


In Lukewarm Water

by RenderedReversed



Series: Drenched [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ...Fluff Dump, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Hogwarts, Horcrux merging, I can't write proper romance, M/M, Master of Death, Maybe OOC, NOT a do-over fic, Not DH compliant, Prequel writer's block, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Sequel of unwritten prequel, biggest IDK ever, chapter 7 I'm looking at you, implied bigger plans, possessive!TMR-LV, screw plot let's just write fluff, too-close-to-be-friends-friendship, touchy-feely relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This life was his chance--his single, given chance to fulfill his promise. And Harry knew that he wouldn't give it up for anything in the world, even if it was for his beloved parents. "Then, owl me for my signature on the disinheritance papers," he said calmly, gaze never wavering once despite their shocked looks.</p><p>"Why?" Why him?</p><p>"Because I'll follow Tom past the ends of the world," Harry replied, smiling wryly, "and, well, even on to the next. I made a promise, after all, and it's only right to keep it. So I'll follow him through thick and thin, just like he followed me."</p><p>Summary subject to change. Slash is eventual TMR-LV/HP. Dedicated to those who love their relationship, of any kind!, with a slight lean towards the more intimate side... because we all know they're two halves of a whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT IN THIS CHAPTER: Timelines are fixed. Cyrus Malfoy is Scorpius Malfoy's grandson, and Lysander Malfoy is Scorpius Malfoy's brother, though they have about a 20 year age gap. Hermia Barrett (AKA Lysander Malfoy's lover) also has quite a large age gap between her and her (eloped) husband, as she is still quite young when she birthed Rhadamanthus but he was not (Lysander died in his 50s).
> 
> This is not only to give some more beef to the timeline (not all information stated above is in the text), but also to make things a bit more realistic. Everyone in the world doesn't marry someone who is their same age, maybe 1 or 2 years off. There are some really big age gaps there, and I wanted to bring in that realism.

“Come now, precious. We’re going to be late if you take any longer,” Rhadamanthus drawled, leaning against the doorway as he watched his _friend_ of eleven years and going hastily pack his trunk.

“Yes, yes, I’ve just forgotten a couple of things,” Hadrian muttered. “Make yourself useful and be quiet, okay?”

“Touchy,” the Malfoy commented as he rasied a finely shaped brow. “Honestly, you _Gryffindors_ , always packing at the last possible second—“

“Okay, I’m done!” Having not been paying attention at _all_ to his friend’s ramblings, Hadrian turned around and beamed. “Let’s go.”

“ _Finally,_ ” Rhadamanthus muttered.

They met Hadrian’s mother downstairs—Lilian Jameson. She smiled at the two, calm and pleasant and the prefect pureblood lady—a habit, most likely—despite the fact that everyone knew she wasn’t. Lilian had a ferocious temper and an even greater protective streak. It was hard to believe her husband was able to keep up with her, considering that he had a naturally kind and gentle disposition.

“Hadrian, Rhadamanthus. I was just about to call Dobby to go fetch you. I expect everything’s well and in order?”

“Yes, mother,” Hadrian answered politely. “Is father waiting by the floo?”

“He is,” she confirmed. “Go on ahead—I don’t want to hear _anything_ about you being late, understood? Especially because you’ll be dragging Rhadamanthus with you—“

Said mentioned boy made a quiet sound of irritation at the back of his throat, one Lilian mistook as _to hurry_.

“My! Look at the time… you best be on your way! If someone gives you trouble, or one of the older years pick on you, don’t hesitate to write me an owl with their full names stamped on it, alright?” Lilian gave a cold smile at the last part, looking for all the part of a wild animal ready to defend her cub in the name of nature’s truest course.

They waved her goodbye, and moved quickly to the floo where his father, Alastair Jameson, as well as another man beside him, recognizable to Hadrian solely by his stormy green eyes.

"Father—"he had begun to greet before he saw the other,"—Dad?!"

"Hello Hadrian," Jasper Woods greeted his son. "And you, Rhadamanthus."

Beside him, Hadrian saw his friend incline his head in kind. "Lord Jameson, Mr. Woods," the Malfoy welcomed.

"Your mother isn't coming, and I thought you should at least have two parents seeing you off for your first time to Hogwarts—"Alastair was cut off as Jasper strode forward to embrace his son in a firm hug.

"It's good to see you, son," he breathed.

Hadrian smiled shyly."You too, Dad." He was let go, and turned to be hugged by his second father.

"Well then, shall we go? No son of mine will be late!" Jasper declared, and his reply was nervous laughter.

"Too bad your son's a Gryffindor," Rhadamanthus muttered under his breath. He received an elbow to the ribs for his effort.

They arrived at the train station of Platform 9¾ just in time. The purebloods that were there whispered and looked at them from the corners of their eyes, and whether that was because Alastair Jameson was a powerful man despite his amiable personality, or because of Rhadamanthus, the black sheep of the Malfoy family, was questionable. Now that Hadrian thought about it, it could very well also be himself and his biological father.

Jasper Woods was, after all, a muggleborn, making Hadrian a half-blood like Rhadamanthus. Hadrian was born out of wedlock, because his mother had been betrothed to the Jameson heir and they both had no love in the union. They were friends, in fact, and at the time, Alastair knew very well how Lilian felt about Jasper, and his kind heart that only sought for the happiness of his close friend could not allow that love to wither and die away so inconclusively.

So when Lilian was found with Jasper's child, Alastair stepped up and claimed the child his own, too, and before any of his shocked relatives could do anything, he had made little baby Hadrian his heir. Honestly, it helped that the family was not composed of staunch elitists—they followed pureblood traditions, yes, but were much looser than, say, the Blacks or the Lestranges. They were also neutral, unlike the dark disposition of many other pureblood families.

But nevertheless, there _was_ a noticeable amount of those closely connected or part of the Jameson family that did not like what Alastair had done—and they continued to oppose Hadrian’s existence _until_ the child had proven to be a naturally brilliant and gifted boy indeed. The entity of magic herself seemed to bless him, seemed to _exist_ to curl about his vessel and protect and care for him, to carry out his every whim unquestionably. He was, without a doubt, a magical prodigy, and so came about the rapid acceptance that had spread, his status as heir no longer questioned.

For a family like the Jamesons, magic would always be far more telling than blood.

Rhadamanthus had not had it so lucky. His father had fallen deeply in love with the sister of a half-blood, and she herself did not have any magic to boast of, having lost it due to a potion’s accident in her late teens. She was what anyone would call an “unnatural squib,” and whether that was for the better or for the worse was questionable.

But being a Malfoy, Rhadamanthus’ father, brother of Scorpius Malfoy, could not fight against his duty to his family. He was engaged to Adel Rosier, a pureblood lady of no real spectacular aspects other than her status and her quintessential attitude, and he almost married her, but fled at the last moment and eloped with his _real_ love. The Malfoys disowned him, of course, but before they did, the woman he had married swelled with child, and so magic, technically, saw him as a Malfoy and would only stop doing so until Rhadamanthus was specifically disowned as well.

The Malfoys did not have a chance. For all his last burst of courage, Lysander Malfoy had still been a Slytherin at heart, and using a few very underhanded and sly maneuvers, one including a quickly modified version of his Will made upon his deathbed (which was actually quite soon after he eloped with his lover, due to a curse felling him), he made it so that his son would never be disowned from his original family.

Naturally the Malfoys were outraged, but they decided, with their outwardly calm, chilly attitudes, to take the child. No Malfoy, whether his father had forced that upon him or not, would live as a _muggle_. For the first few years of his life, from age one to four, Rhadamanthus lived and was taught as a pureblood, and was spurned and treated as a mudblood.

But everyone had underestimated Lysander’s lover and her will and fierce devotion as a mother. She stole Rhadamanthus away, using her deceased husband’s Will as her argument, and no one, not even those who protested her mere _presence_ in the Wizarding World could deny that mother of her rights, especially because they were explicitly stated as a pureblood’s last wish.

Hermia Barrett knew she did not have much to offer her son magically. She _knew_ she could not give him the material finery of the Malfoys, the education, the exquisite food, the pomp and circumstance and the atmosphere of a pureblood. But she knew she could, at the very least, give him the love she knew he would never feel with her husband’s family, and that was enough to spur her action in taking him.

And now, Rhadamanthus still lived with his mother in a muggle flat near his grandparent’s (on Hermia’s side!) house. From his grandfather, who was a muggleborn himself, he still received _some_ pre-Hogwarts education. Though, he often found himself staying over with the Jamesons, not because he hated his mother and the muggle-way of life, but simply because he knew it would comfort Hermia that he was still getting the taste of the Wizarding World that he deserved, all the while still having the love of the mother who had birthed him.

And perhaps, Hadrian mused, that had made all the difference.

“Harry,” Rhadamanthus called softly, bringing him back into the world of the living as they sat in the empty compartment, “you’re lost in your thoughts.”

Hadrian smiled. _Yes, that was his name… Harry._ “Just thinking how it used to be, Tom.”

“Oh? And how _did_ it use to be?”

Harry shrugged. “When everything just seemed so… grim, is all. I’m honestly amazed—what are the chances that we end up having shitty starts, but having those same, almost familiar beginnings morph into something so completely different?”

“It’s been eleven years, haven’t you already seen that?” Tom murmured. “And don’t you dare say anything about how you were born three seconds _after_ me; it’s still the same date.”

Harry laughed. “I wasn’t! It’s just… now that we’re on the train to Hogwarts— _again_ —it feels like it’s finally settling in, you know? Becoming a history that can’t change… sorta like when I was still a Potter and you were a Riddle and a dark lord and we were still at each other’s throats… technically,” he added as a side thought.

Tom shrugged. “I suppose it’s… reasonable you feel that way.”

Harry frowned. “Do you ever stop to think what would have happened if I _hadn’t_ owned all three of the Hallows?”

There was silence. Then, Tom leered at his companion. “Hmm… well precious, _I_ think we would’ve had _a_ _lot_ of time in the afterlife—“

Harry blushed and turned his head away. Sure, they had _some_ sort of… skip-the-friends-stage relationship before… but after they had been reborn, there had almost been no mention of it unless it was in jest. He often wondered what it would’ve been like if Tom had been able to live—hadn’t been forced to pass on to shove sanity forcefully down Voldemort’s throat to keep him from returning using the horcrux within the Boy-Who-Lived. But then, what was the use?

They were both here now. Both _alive_ now. Tom might technically not be the Tom he knew, but Harry was okay with that. He had come to like and appreciate _this_ Tom, this Tom who was currently living as Rhadamanthus Tiberius Malfoy, whose mind was some sort of combination between Voldemort’s wisdom and dark, crazed brilliance and Tom Riddle’s more _human_ attitude and (relative) sanity. The two were both amazing, of course—wizarding prodigies of the most dangerous kind—but they were so _different_ and when they had merged and become one—

It was like everything in the world made sense again, Harry secretly thought to himself. Perhaps one person was never meant to become someone so far from himself—so obviously _not_ —that it forced one to call them by different names and consider them to be different entities.

And maybe, maybe that was all beside the point, because _this_ Tom, this Tom in the here and now, talking to his “childhood friend” Persepheus Hadrian Jameson, still called him those stupid pet names that he had come to cherish.

“Precious, is there something you want me to do to be able to hold your attention?” Tom drawled, and Harry turned back sheepishly to see him with his arms crossed, one leg slung over the other in that superior, confident pose that he could not have possibly developed in this life.

“Sorry. Hogwarts is just sort of nostalgic… you know. And I can’t help but wonder what house I’m going to be sorted in this time…”

“You’re a Gryffindor at heart,” Tom argued. “…But admittedly, you’re too Slytherin for that house. And sometimes, even _I_ am forced to admit your Ravenclaw, this-is-so-absurd-it’s-actually-going-to-work plans are surprisingly brilliant. Then again, you’re loyal to a fault, I think I would know that best, so being a Puff is also—“

“Stop it, you prat!” Harry groaned. “You’re making it worse.”

Tom smirked. “Naturally I’ll be in Slytherin, but if I must, I’ll slither my way into whatever house you get into, darling. Just to make sure you’re not being found by any trouble, of course.”

“How _thoughtful_.”

“Just looking out for you.”

“I’d love it if I land myself into Gryffindor and force you to come with me,” Harry exclaimed suddenly. “Just imagine, those parties would do _absolute_ —“

“You’ve enough experience in that house to survive on your own,” Tom scowled.

“Killjoy.”

“Only if it’s yours,” he purred.

“S—Screw you,” mumbled Harry.

The door to the compartment opened, and they both swiftly turned to gaze at the intruder. It was a blond haired, pale faced, _older_ student, who had the iconic silvery blue eye color of a Malfoy. Cyrus Draco Malfoy, named in honor of his great grandfather. Yes, this was the grandson of Scorpius.

“Heir Jameson. Cousin,” he greeted curtly. The implication that this particular family member was worth less than an outsider was supposed to be meant as a sting, but Tom merely looked at him with that impassive, degrading stare that he had perfected in his past life.

Harry took a split second to wonder whether he should bother greeting the fifth year. He had only stopped direct insults to Tom because of the debacle where it was found that the young half-blood was _also_ a “magical prodigy.” Little did they know, Tom had always had this odd connection with manifesting his wandless magic. Harry himself wasn’t a huge fan of manifestations—he preferred more subtlety in wandless acts.

“Heir Malfoy,” he finally said in return, purely out of obligation and even though he was technically only eleven years old, he had already mastered the art of making his intentions known. “Any reason for your visit?”

Cyrus eyed him, and then turned to glance back at Tom, who hadn’t bothered to give any more of his attention and had turned to look out the window.

“Only to greet _dearest_ Rhadamanthus,” the Malfoy heir said in a louder-than-usual voice to get Tom’s attention.

The half-blood lazily turned to look at him. Harry took it upon himself to voice the meaning of the stare. “Then please, do so properly.”

Cyrus bit his tongue.

“The compartment is full,” Tom finally murmured, his tone calm and steady. “I’m afraid if you had hopes of sitting with us, they’ll be politely crushed.” No one mentioned that the only two people physically sitting in the room were the two almost-first years.

“I see,” ground Cyrus. “Then I’ll be making my leave. Good day to you cousin, and may Hogwarts grant you the pleasure of being in Slytherin.”

Tom smiled coldly at his back. The implication that his place in the house of the snakes was questionable hit a nerve from his memories of his first Sorting. Harry noticed.

“Your cousin’s a git,” he claimed, just like every single time an encounter between them had happened. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you swipe away his perfectly cushioned seat.” _Literally_.

“Hmm? Aren’t you forgetting something, darling?” Tom asked as he turned his attention back to his companion. This time, his smile was teasing and predatory. “Not just _me_ , but _you_.”

“…Come again…?”

“You’ll be taking over Slytherin with me,” he declared.

“…Tom this was not in the plan,” Harry accused.

“Our plan was rather vague. Become reborn for the sake of _living_? That could mean anything, precious, and I don’t care whether you’re placed in Slytherin or not—they’ll learn to follow your orders.”

“ _Tom!_ ” the heir groaned. “You’re—you’re—you’re insufferable! I don’t give orders! I ask! Politely! Preferrably with manners!”

“Keep telling yourself that, precious,” Tom clicked his tongue, looking down to examine his perfectly clean nails. “Despite the fact that I lost and the Light wrote themselves as the victors, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. You did a lot when you were alive, I can see, and just as well that has convinced me to drag you along in my quest for political domination—“

“You don’t decide things like that on your own,” Harry moaned as buried his face in his hands. “Honestly—“

“You’ll be by my side for the rest of eternity anyways,” Tom pointed out. “Might as well have some, ah, interesting things to occupy your mind with, however long it lasts.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Will we now?” Tom muttered, amused. “Shall I pull you over to rest your head upon my lap?”

“…I’ll accept a shoulder.”

“Done. Get over here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO................. yeah this is a sequel to my unfinished, really long oneshot that I like to call In Ice-Cold Water. No worries, there will be small mentions of implications of what happens in there so you're not completely lost. Think of it as a sequel that comes before the prequel! Haha. And it'll be finished one day... really.
> 
> And yes, I think I was half-cracked half-dead when I thought up of this Tom. Come at me.
> 
> Now: does the name mean anything? Sure it does! ...if you read the prequel! No, I'm kidding. Sort of. 
> 
> If you /really/ want to put meaning into it, imagine it as both Harry and Tom starting over, rising from the waters that have washed them clean. They might still have their memories, yes, but they're well prepared to make new ones, and I think that's what counts.
> 
> ...That, /and/ the fact that I really, really wanted locket!Tom to come out of that damned necklace in the pond scene of Deathly Hollows, but that's something closer to the prequel than you guys need to worry about.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL. So. I forgot to post this chapter.... ./facepalm 
> 
> THIS is the real chapter 2. I'll re-post chapter 3 later so I don't confuse everyone haha.

It was… odd, to ride across the Black Lake again. Hogwarts stood just as imposing, just as magical, just as _beautiful_ as she had those many years ago, and Harry was still captivated by the sight. By his side, Tom slung an arm across his shoulder, pulling him closer to ward off the chill and also to communicate that silent agreement of nostalgia.

Only this time, Harry felt the shift in Hogwart’s wards. He felt the pull, the bind, the contract with his magic that recognized him as a student and keyed him in. He felt the acceptance, the purity and ancient nature of this bond, and unconsciously a smile bloomed upon his face. They were home—him and Tom, at their very first and always home. The feeling he received from this was indescribable.

It was true that his magic core was the same, and therefore he was already technically keyed into the wards, but this was a different body now. His soul was the same, his magic the same, but the vessel for both components was of a foreign nature, and it had taken him four years to settle properly into it, forcing his “accidental” magic to appear later. It had been the same for Tom—their new bodies had been unable to handle the fill of their powerful magics, and had taken a longer time to adjust to it before they were able to reign in control.

So as Hogwarts both welcomed and greeted them in familiarity, Harry couldn’t help but feel another wave of nostalgia for all the people in the old castle. Flitwick, still old, still mysterious, still good and cheery professor Flitwick, was still the Charms professor. McGonagall was long gone. Binns, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t had any real affection for the History of Magic teacher anyways. Teddy Lupin, his godson, taught Transfiguration.

And Scorpius Malfoy taught DADA, having retired from his Ministry post.

So really, everything fell in to place, all of his old acquaintances there. Even Hermione Weasley the Second, granddaughter of his deceased friend who would always be a Granger in his heart, and his own goddaughter. She was old now, of course—technically middle-aged in terms of Headmasters and magical folk—but he was sure she would be just as kind, just as gentle and goodhearted as she was when she had been a child.

It would be grand to see them all again, and even amusing to watch as they went about their lives, finding or remaining oblivious to his presence. And perhaps they would never realize who Rhadamanthus Malfoy was, how he was Tom who was also known as Lord Voldemort, not the Tom who would grow to _be_ the dark lord. These thoughts filled his head, even as they made their way up the grand staircase and towards the Great Hall. The professor leading them, of course, was _supposed_ to be the Deputy Headmaster, but Teddy Lupin always preferred to surprise everyone as he stood beside the Sorting Hat, so it was Lorcan Scamander, son of dear, dear Luna and Care of Magical Creatures Professor who lead them with a soft, mysterious smile.

Dear God, he was already feeling melancholic with all of these people who he had known!

“Are you still cold, precious?” Tom murmured into his ear. It just wasn’t fair that he happened to be the taller one this year. Harry distinctly remembered the time he had been a full three inches taller!

“No,” he replied anyways, even as he knew his companion was only using the excuse to keep him held against his side.

With a swift glance around the room, he saw the familiar faces of the pureblood children, the unfamiliar of the muggleborns, who had wide-eyed expressions as they tried to absorb everything they saw, and the half-blood children, who were making friends amongst themselves. It was a shame that this separation still continued—he had tried to fix it during his past lifetime—but Harry understood that some prejudice could not be erased, even in a seventy year period.

And he wondered if Tom would try to change that too.

“Um, hello,” a sweet, nervous voice called from the side. Harry turned his head to see one of the muggleborn children, cheeks stained red, attempting to make nice with them. It was true, he and Tom _did_ stand apart from the rest, even though everyone was crowded into one big clump there was an imaginary circle that separated them.

“Um, so, I was wondering—“

She was cut off by a boy standing behind her. “ _What?_ A little mudblood, trying to talk to _Persepheus_ _Jameson_? You must not know how things work around here.”

Harry felt irritation swell in him. Of course she didn’t! She had grown up in the muggle world! And he certainly didn’t need stuffy purebloods putting words in his mouth.

“No, _you_ must not know how things work around here,” Tom smoothly interrupted. “After all, you _are_ trying to talk for him, and that’s simply not your _place_.” He had read Harry’s mind as only he could, and whether that was in a literal or figurative sense, Harry didn’t really know, but he supposed that didn’t matter much.

The pureblood boy scowled, face twisting in humiliation as the Malfoy implied his ignorance _and_ his embarrassing act. “Oh, so you think it’s _your_ place?” he combated, a smug smile on his face.

“Oh, he fits right in,” Harry finally chose to say, causing the pureblood’s smile to turn into a frown. “I don’t need people talking for me, thanks, but I’m afraid Tom’s been doing it forever, and you’re sort of new to the scene, so I think I’d rather a person who _knows_ what I’m going to say than someone who doesn’t.” He turned to the muggleborn. “Hello. Sorry for the rudeness of some people; they just don’t seem to get how to greet a lady.”

“She’s hardly a lady,” Tom muttered in his ear. He received a discreet (and much lighter than usual) elbow in the ribs.

“And you would also due to introduce yourself before claiming a place you don’t belong,” Harry continued calmly. “It’s only proper manners.”

The boy’s face flushed in shame. He ground his teeth, trying to stutter out some comeback, but he couldn’t decide what to say (or think of any better), and finally growled his name. “Kingston Bulstrode.”

Before Harry (or Tom, as he seemed at the moment ready to spring and devour the boy’s dignity whole) could say anything more, another person interrupted—only this one familiar.

“I apologize for my cousin’s ignorance, Hadrian, Rhadamanthus,” whispered Pythia Olivander.

“It’s hardly your fault,” Harry assured. “You’ve had nothing to do with it.”

“No need to apologize _for_ him,” Tom continued for him with a lazy wave.

“…I suppose,” she murmured in his naturally soft voice, “that the apology wouldn’t mean as much coming from me.”

“I doubt he wants to apologize anyways.” The Malfoy slid his eyesight to the frozen Bulstrode, cheeks still bright red. “Don’t you think so too, Harry?”

“In the end, it doesn’t really matter,” Harry sighed. “Anyways, it’s bad to get into unsavory situations at the start of the year. Don’t pick a fight, okay?”

“If anyone’s picking a fight, it certainly isn’t me—“

“I’m sure,” he deadpanned. Instead of continuing in that vein for the next few minutes, like he knew he could, Harry instead directed his gaze back to the silver eyed, strawberry blonde Olivander. “Good to see you again, Pythia. How’s the shop?”

She smiled, mysterious and secretive, giving him a slight flashback to when he still went to school with Luna Lovegood. “Father is well,” she simply said. “It was a shame you two couldn’t stay longer when you got your wands. We would’ve loved to have you stay for some tea.”

Before they could continue their conversation, the two large double doors that led to the Great Hall opened wide, revealing crowded tables and the row of professors in the back. Lorcan Scamander waved them in. “It’s time for the Sorting.”

They entered, and Harry watched as some students looked around in awe, especially at the ceiling. This year it was a great, starry sky, with exploded views of the planets and the constellations. They moved, of course, like all magical works of arts did. He saw _Aries_ , raising its head (and thus, its horns) into the rest of the sky, and _Centaurus_ was raising his javelin and taking aim. _Leo_ was craning his head as he roared enthusiastically, and _Orion_ was swinging his sword wildly.

It was all greatly amusing, not to mention impressive, and beside him Tom chuckled darkly as he noted one student who was too caught up in looking upward that he tripped over his friend.

“Oh, hush,” Harry murmured, but his lips quirked up as well.

They all stopped as Scamander gestured for their patience, and instantly the Hall silenced. No one spoke, no one whispered, and even the slightest rustling of robes could be distinctly heard if there were any. From her seat in the very center of the long table of Professors, the Headmistress rose, and Harry could not contain his smile enough.

How she had grown, he thought wistfully. His tiny little goddaughter had grown up well and now this middle-aged, knowledgeable yet still bright and awed with the world woman stood before him.

Hermione Weasley smiled. "Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts! And to those returning, welcome back home! Let us have another prosperous year here! I am sure our dearest Professor Lorcan has already given you an introduction, so let the sorting begin!"

By the Sorting Hat, where he had remembered Professor McGonagall to have stood—and for Tom, Professor Dumbledore—Ted Lupin now took his place as the Deputy Headmaster, his form not the old, wizened man he should’ve been, rather looking quite young and eye-catching due to his metamorphagus abilities. He sent a wave and a wink to his table of Gryffindors, who took the opportunity to wave back and shout and call with house pride.

They immediately settled as the Transfiguration teacher opened the scroll of names and read the first one off the list.

“Abbott, Gregory!”

And so the Sorting began.

From the As to the Cs to the Gs, the names went on. Some went to Hufflepuff, some to Gryffindor, others to Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Throughout the whole process, Tom kept him in a comfortable closeness so that their shoulders touched and the backs of their hands brushed together inside the secrecy of their sleeves.

Harry, for his part, was very much so used to and comforted by the contact. First, in his first life, he had gotten used to Tom’s desire for close proximity, and then in death, he found as he got to know the _new_ Tom Riddle that he desired for the contact as well, a remnant from his horcruxes’ memories. Growing up as Rhadamanthus and Persepheus—or Hadrian, his middle name and used only by his family members and close friends—they were used to being so touchy-feely already, and so the trend continued until this body he was in was accustomed to the warmth of his companion.

The first time he had wondered of it, he had not hesitated to ask Tom in their time “dead”. During this period they had tried their best to bridge the unsightly large gap between them, which generated the sort of awkwardness Harry had no care for. They spoke of lives, and memories, and in the silence of body language, spoke of the things that had been, in the past, better left unsaid.

It had been strange, all of a sudden, to keep nothing from someone and to let their whole soul be held bare, to let it be held under someone else’s sight and inspection, to let them analyze and dissect the very things that made himself… well, _himself_. But he and Tom were linked anyways, _forever_ , with the unexplainable bond of a soul unnaturally merged with another, a partial meshing of one that was cracked, almost broken, and another that was ancient and full.

 _Not to mention_ , of course, the promise he had made with him when they both were in limbo. But _that_ was to be thought of at another time.

So Harry knew, knew exactly why Tom had this strange urge to take care of him and to keep him out of trouble’s way (as harm usually came with that mischievous spirit). It had been difficult to understand at first, and still even now he knew he could not wrap his mind around the concept. The horcrux that had lived within him for his first seventeen years of life had been forced to watch—unable to do _anything_ , as small as a sliver it was with no magical core—and sympathize with all of his experiences, all of the trials he had gone through, and that had affected Tom more than Harry could ever understand.

So the imprint of that helplessness, the stark memory of that feeling caused Tom to be a bit… well, _Tom_ , when it came to Harry, and perhaps he chose _that_ description because it included all of the tiny quirks as well as the obvious things—possessiveness, a subtle, hidden violent temper, verbal irony, verbal riddles, riddles in general…

“Jameson, Persepheus Hadrian!”

He was pulled from his thoughts by the call of his name— _this_ name—and he realized that they must’ve reached the Js already. Of course, he would be sorted before Tom, as Tom in this life was in the Ms, so with another brush of magic and physical contact, Harry left his companion’s side to take his seat on the familiar chair.

Before that, however…

“Professor Lupin,” he murmured respectfully, perhaps even with a bit of mischief hidden in his words.

“Mr. Jameson,” Teddy replied equally, but then his expression lit with the most peculiar light, as if he knew the best secret in the world, and everything made sense now. “I look forward to having you in my class this year,” he then said.

“As do I,” Harry answered in kind, and finally took his seat. The Sorting Hat was placed upon his head, the large brim covering his eyes from the curious students. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes. Whispered chatter came from the seated second to seventh years, all wondering what was taking so long.

But Harry was having a whole other experience.

“Why _hello_ again, Mr. Potter!” boomed the Sorting Hat in his head. “But no, it’s Mr. Jameson now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry replied. “I quite like the name, and my love for my parents is on par with that of mine who are deceased.”

“As I can see,” mused the Hat. “Yes, yes this life has done very well for you. Oh? And I’m getting young Mr. Riddle again I see! But this time, he isn’t all too young now, is he? I’ll certainly be looking forward to that one!”

“I thought you might,” Harry chuckled. “You always did have an interest in our minds.”

“Indeed. So, do you have any plans for arguing with me today?”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked innocently.

“No no, none of that! You know exactly what I mean!” the Sorting Hat boomed good-naturedly. “Any plans to be in Gryffindor this round again? That’d put you a good distance away from Tom, though—“

“Hush,” Harry commanded embarrassedly as he knew the memory the Hat had found—the few when he had been able to sleep over and they had slept curled up in the same bed. “And can’t _you_ see what I’ve had in mind?”

“Why yes, but you’ve had in mind _everything_. That makes it more difficult for me, but I don’t mind _that_ challenge at all! Let’s see, let’s see… where to put you… and I suppose I’ll have to keep in mind that whatever house I get you in, they have to suffer the wrath of dealing with Tom as well.”

“Except Gryffindor,” Harry volunteered helpfully.

“Except the lions,” the Hat agreed. “I don’t think I’d _ever_ be able to pull that one off anyways, but then again, Tom _has_ been awfully brave since I’ve last seen him, hmm? Or at least, _part_ of him. The sly, manipulative work only a Slytherin could do, all to put himself in harm’s way for _you_ … yes, brave and courageous and loyal—“

“If he heard you going on like that, he’d probably burn you,” the first year said with a wide grin. “And are you sorting _him,_ or _me_?”

“Ah, point,” murmured the Hat. “Apologies—your minds are so closely connected, it’s difficult to stay focused on only _one_ of you. And your most recent memories are filled with each other as well. Why, I bet if you chose to, you could have Tom join our little conversation as well!”

“But then I’d be holding up the line, because you’d undoubtedly want to sort both of us at once,” Harry pointed out. “Not that you aren’t already, but _technically_ you’re supposed to be sorting _me_ right now, and I don’t think my goddaughter would be very happy if she found out you’d be catching up on the times with us instead of making decisions that others don’t want to.”

“Point made,” the Hat agreed. “Hmm… let’s see… you’ve done quite the academic work recently, and Tom certainly wasn’t lying about what you’ve been getting yourself into and out of… Ravenclaw would appreciate your knowledge, but those birds wouldn’t be the best for your nature, would they? No no, they’re far too separated from the action. Gryffindor would still suit you well, but your experiences have made you a bit more careful… Your loyalty alone is enough to get you into Hufflepuff with flying colors, but would you really settle for their naïve nature? And Slytherin is still your path to greatness, but do you _want_ that greatness?”

“I don’t, but simply because I walk a path doesn’t mean I’ll ever get to the end in the predicted way,” Harry replied. “All the houses are just fine for me, but ultimately, _you_ know best where to put me. Last time you asked for my opinion, but this time you can see what I want.”

“The promise you made is indeed what I have to take into consideration the most,” admitted the Hat. “But what a quandary you’ve put me in, Mr. Jameson! I really _must_ Sort Tom as well!”

Harry smiled. “I guess so, huh? He might’ve said he’d follow _me_ ¸ but ultimately, _I’m_ the one following _him_. It’s a loop that you’ll have to deal with.”

“Hmm… Where to put you both… Undoubtedly Tom is a Slytherin, but recently he’s been showing a surprising amount of the other qualities of the houses, and I admit you could all fit in each and every one—“

“But what fits best?” Harry asked. “Slytherin, the obvious choice? Or somewhere else, from where the world will never see us coming?”

“I thought you denied your future participation in his plans,” accused the Hat.

“Yeah,” he smiled wryly, “but _I_ know that _he_ knows that I’ll go wherever he goes, because that’s just how it works.”

“And yet he’ll make accommodations for _you_ if he must,” the Sorting Hat sighed tiredly. “Oh, my poor, poor head! Whatever will I do with you two?”

“Put us in Hufflepuff so no one will expect it when we take over?” Harry volunteered.

“Now you’re just playing with me. I see how it is. Alright, I’ve decided… better be—“

“—SLYTHERIN!” shouted the Hat, startling many of the students sitting near the front. The Transfiguration teacher quickly removed it, wearing a grin that was clearly trying to be concealed.

“It seemed the Sorting Hat didn’t agree with me this time,” Harry murmured quietly as he hopped off the stool, his expression of comical woe.

Teddy shook his head. “A true pity, Mr. Jameson. You could’ve been with my pride of lions!”

"I'm the one making the decisions here!" said the Sorting Hat gruffly, though affection and amusement was woven well into its words.

Harry took his seat at the Slytherin table, and the Sorting continued, passing the Ks and Ls, which had the Longbottoms, and finally made its way to the Ms.

“Malfoy, Rhadamanthus Tiberius!”

Most of the student body who were watching the Sorting with interest were surprised when, instead of a blonde head of hair striding up the steps, there was black; black hair reaching shoulders that was parted to the side, to be specific, almost like how it was styled in his early post-Hogwarts days.

Tom may not have had the iconic Malfoy looks there, but he certainly had the eyes. Silver, with tints of blue, reflected nothing but calm indifference, close enough to apathy and nonchalance. He took a seat on the stool, and turned to look at the Professor when the Sorting Hat was not put upon his head immediately.

He raised a brow, spurring the metamorphagus (and werewolf) into action.

Unlike Harry, the Hat barely touched his head when it bellowed out “SLYTHERIN!” and Tom swiftly rose, handing the hat back to Teddy and strolling over to Slytherin table with his strange type of abruptness. His seat was, of course, right next to Harry.

No one knew what that Sorting would bring to Hogwarts, in the form of these two old souls, so still, the process continued.

“Nott, Darius!”

…

“Olivander, Pythia!”

 

 


	3. Chapter III

The food the house elves made was still a great deal of comfort for Harry and Tom. Though they had obviously had better situations this time around, the familiar taste of Hogwart’s cuisine was just another point to prove that they were _really here_.

This time around, Harry was not forced to eat like a pigeon, suffering from bad eating habits. This time he could eat his fill. And this time around, Tom was not treated to the hateful, loathing stares of the students. They knew who he was this time—even if his reputation wasn’t exactly _sparkling_ , no one could deny his power. And that was how he wanted it.

The few half-bloods, and even a muggleborn (pity the young lad), who had made it into Slytherin house did not know who Rhadamanthus Malfoy was. They might’ve heard his name if their one wizarding parent had told them, but chances were, they really did _not_ know who he was, and so had no qualms in sitting next to him, despite the suspiciously wide berth that was given.

Of course, they didn’t know who Persepheus Jameson was either, and though the purebloods respected him well enough, the fact was that he was _inseparable_ from his fellow first year, and thus the invisible bubble that had formed about them was unquestionable.

Tom smirked. They might’ve been giving them space for the wrong reasons, but eventually, they’d learn. That, he _knew_. And they would learn not to touch Harry, to even _speak_ to him if they were unworthy.

…Well, maybe not _that…_ considering the fact that Harry would refuse to talk to him for several weeks if he went through with all the things he wanted to. Perhaps they should figure out some sort of compromise? The abundance of other _people_ —and this he thought in a vague sort of in-between of dislike and disgust—combined with their close proximity put him on the edge.

Tom did _not_ like it when so many people were around Harry. It was stupid, and it was irrational, but he just _didn’t_ , and he blamed his hocruxes’ strange, inhuman feelings for that. A soul thought differently than how a human did, as long as it was separated from a body, and the combined factors made him feel cut off, detached, but hanging on to a stretched strand of thread, just waiting to snap.

It was absurd how tense he felt.

“You’re not hungry?” Harry asked innocently beside him. They were as close as they could be without bumping arms as they ate.

Tom gingerly picked up the slice of treacle tart on his plate—the dessert he had originally had no care for until Harry had gotten him into it—and fed his companion a bite. The students who saw the scene gapped at them openly.

“I never said that, did I?” murmured Tom. It was so, so, _so_ stupid how on-the-edge he was. Maybe he should just give up dinner as a whole and convince Harry to sneak down to the kitchens with him after lights out. They could sneak past the prefects no problem.

“Hmm… then eat. You didn’t have a very big lunch, either.”

“ _That,_ precious, was _not_ my fault—“

“Well, you _could’ve_ eaten as I was packing. No one said you had to stand there and make snarky little comments, did they?”

“You enjoy my commentary,” was Tom’s reply. “It amuses you.”

“A lot of things amuse me,” Harry deadpanned. “You not eating, on the other hand—“

“Somehow, I feel our roles are reversed. Am not _I_ the one who’s supposed to make sure you’re eating properly?”

“It goes both ways,” shrugged Harry. “Because you have this strange tendency to never eat when you have something on your mind, so—“

“What do you think I have on my mind?” inquired Tom absently. He took a bite of some chicken to appease Harry nonetheless.

“Me.”

Tom refrained from snorting. “ _That_ , my dear, sounds—“

“Presumptuous, yes, but the tiny little fact that I know you so well makes it—“

“You have a very backward way of comforting,” pointed out the Malfoy. And it was true—he could already feel his muscles, which had been so tense, so ready to spring at a moment’s notice, relaxing.

“Only because _you_ have a very backward way of telling.”

“Touché.”

* * *

 

After dinner, the Slytherin prefects led them to the common room quickly and efficiently, though none of the many shortcuts that Harry knew existed were used. It seemed that all Slytherins had developed a brisk pace of walking that looked completely natural, something he had never noticed before, and was probably made to still look perfectly calm and at peace while making to the classes that were farther away from them than anybody else’s.

Well, except _Potions_ , but that was besides the point.

In fact, Harry didn’t even think he knew the new Potions professor.

But whatever.

They were let in after they were shown the secret passageway behind the stone wall and told the password. Tom quietly murmured to him that there was a special password in parseltongue as well, ensuring all speakers entrance to the common room. For obvious reasons, it had never been changed, and Tom wasn’t even sure if it was _possible_ to change it, as he had never bothered to try.

Harry thought it would be interesting to be told all of the dirty secrets of Slytherin house by the heir of Slytherin himself, and he made sure he hissed that to Tom under his breath just to see his reaction. Predictably, no one would ever notice Tom’s minor twitch of the face, or how his lips tightened for just the sliver of a second, or how the _look_ in his eyes flickered momentarily, but all of it simply made Harry mentally burst into a fit of laughter.

“Don’t get immature now, precious,” Tom muttered.

 _Oops. Looks like he heard that._ “My soul feels very youthful, thanks so much,” Harry whispered back. “Unlike _you_ , old man—“

“ _Technically_ , you lived longer than I did—“

“ _Your_ soul wasn’t the one looking seventeen—“

“That a tad bit _too_ young, hmm? Guess I shouldn’t have expected much—“

“Shouldn’t have expected a forty-something year old looking soul could take some teasing,” retorted Harry. “And you probably would have had no qualms with fucking _my_ perfectly _fine_ seventeen year-old self.” He had not expected the smoldering look Tom gave him, nor how it could have such an effect on him considering that they both looked like children, but it was enough to cause Harry’s throat to clog up and force him to turn away and fight the flush filling his cheeks.

“ _Don’t get yourself into something you can’t handle_ ,” Tom hissed quietly. “ _I still have two of your promises on reserve, and the rules say nothing about stopping me from demanding what you’ve started_.”

The blank, empty space that Harry forced to stay blank and empty using his Occulumency shields seemed too white, too _pure_ for what he knew Tom wanted to put there. He felt the probing at his mind, the touch; the brush that only _Tom_ could feel like, like he was inside yet trying to get _in_ still, and the feeling was enough to make him swallow.

“ _Knock it off, prat_ ,” he hissed embarrassedly.

“Hmm…”

Harry sighed as he felt the presence disappear, though not completely— _never_ completely, really. He would bet all the galleons to his name that Tom had only stopped because the prefects were beginning to speak and soon, they would meet the Slytherin House head… obviously Scorpius Malfoy.

“Welcome to Slytherin House,” began one of the sixth year prefects, Elladora Blishwick, “And even if you’ve been here for the grand total of a single meal, you’ve surely heard some of the rumors about us by now. And we’ll tell you this; that some of them are true, and some of them are not. Which is which, you’ll have to figure out for yourselves—though I expect more finesse from you all than the people who actually let the rumors loose.”

Scorpius Malfoy took over. “I am your Head of House, Scorpius Malfoy. Any serious issues you have, you will report to me. This _includes_ inter-house relations that have gone… _badly_ , so to speak—“the older students shared amused looks,”—as well as home related issues. Unlike Hufflepuff, if you’re in Slytherin, you’re in Slytherin for a _reason_. I fully acknowledge that and if one of you is on the worst end of those reasons, feel safe with the understanding that I will not turn any of you away. Even if you’re from the most isolated corners of the earth—“he glanced around, making eye contact with all of them,”—you’ve become a Slytherin. We take care of our own.”

“Of course, this means we present united fronts,” continued the other prefect Aries Selwyn, “Thus, all squabbles are to _begin_ in these rooms, and are to never _leave_ these rooms. We’re already heavily prejudiced against because of the participation of some of our ancestors in the Second Wizarding War, so don’t make any of yourselves a bigger target than need be.”

“Keep in mind that down here, we don’t care much for your magical affinity. You can be the darkest wizard in Britain and we’ll hide you, and you can be the lightest wizard from Germany and we’ll _still_ hide you—“some of the fifth years chuckled at that,”—What we _do_ care for is power, and like how Ravenclaws enjoy their debates, Slytherins enjoy their games. Just learn a little subtlety before thinking about instigating one, won’t you?”

“Up those stairs are the boy’s sleeping quarters,” pointed Selwyn, “and they’ll be separated by years. Older you get, more privacy you get, since we’ve got a lot of room down here in the dungeons all to ourselves.”

“And up those stairs are the girl’s sleeping quarters,” pointed Blishwick. “Same concept as the boy’s. We’ve both got good views of the Black Lake, and don’t run yourselves into a tizzy if the Giant Squid shows up. It likes to do that.”

“Your schedules for classes will be handed out tomorrow during breakfast,” the Head said. “I expect all of your attendance. You have the rest of the night to settle in—but be sure you sleep early. Like mentioned earlier we present a united front. Try not to walk anywhere alone, even if that means a walk to the Great Hall. The dungeons, as you will find, are quite far from everywhere else. No need to make yourselves targets for the other houses’ pranks—especially the Gryffindors.”

 “Your luggage is upstairs. Find yourself a bed and claim it by putting your trunk underneath, and feel free to do whatever you like for the rest of the night. You won’t find us in Slytherin following you to the bathroom and checking up on you every five minutes like the Puffs.”

They were decidedly dismissed, and Harry found himself somewhat eager to see the sleeping quarters. Up in Gryffindor, there wasn’t a lot of room to be had, so every year had their beds in a tight-knit arrangement that promoted their closeness. He had only ever seen the commons—though that made it no less impressive. All that said, the window he had heard about displaying the Black Lake wasn’t one of the things he was looking forward to seeing.

He had enough of those grindylows and mermaids, thanks very much.

“Rhadamanthus,” Scorpius Malfoy called quietly as many of the other boys began to split to their stairs, “See me after.”

Tom inclined his head, and they both headed up the stairs to claim their beds.

Though there was a perfect number—like always—Harry thought it was a bit of a waste as he probably wasn’t going to be sleeping in it anyways. He and Tom had rarely gotten the chance to enjoy the comfort of close sleeping arrangements, since the Jameson manor was large enough to have many guest bedrooms, and so his companion was likely to pull him into his bed the next chance he’d get.

 _Harry_ wasn’t complaining. His whole system seemed to just… relax with Tom.

Despite how reality would play out, they both dutifully chose their beds—which were side by side—and set about silently casting some minor, some major protection spells. Notice-me-not charms, anti-theft wards, illusions, a bit of harmless traps to those who would try, monitor spells that would alert them to who _did_ , sticking spells to their curtains, etcetera. Those who were from pureblood families that had taught them a little bit about some of the minor spells also were performing them, but of course not silently.

After the task was done, instead of staying in the room to acquaint themselves with the other first years, they _both_ headed down to meet their Head of House, who was conversing with the prefects quietly. Scorpius saw their approach and dismissed the two, raising his eyebrow when he saw Harry’s addition.

“You asked for me, uncle?” Tom greeted. Surprisingly, Scorpius was much more… milder than his father and son, but that could possibly be because time had matured him like it had Draco.

“I did.” He pointedly looked at Harry.

Refusing to back down, Harry returned his gaze, locking the man down. It would be better to broadcast his place by Tom early on, so there would never be any confusion to begin with. Hogwarts held most of his good _and_ bad memories, and he knew Tom also refused to leave him alone with those, so getting Scorpius to understand that would most likely be advantageous in the long run.

Luckily, Scorpius didn’t have the personal animosity that Severus had had for him.

“…Mr. Jameson, I don’t believe I asked for you,” he finally said after a couple of seconds.

“You did as soon as you asked for me,” Tom answered in his stead.

He gave them both indiscernible looks. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for future reference. Nevertheless, nephew, it is good to see you again. You’ve been doing well?”

“Yes,” he replied honestly. _Better than I would’ve done if I had stayed with you._

Scorpius nodded. “Then I’m glad.” He had always known that Rhadamanthus would be different, with his black, black hair and the chilly ways he had easily adopted sooner than a child should’ve. His father had told him stories of a man with a dangerous type of charisma, a deadly type of charisma that had only been defeated because of insanity. He had been told stories by his great grandfather Abraxas, of the glory days of that person, of the time he had been able to enchant anyone he spoke to.

Scorpius had been told stories of the Dark Lord Voldemort, of his rise and his fall, from generation to generation, and so when he saw Rhadamanthus, who mirrored the exact look he had been told of, he knew the boy would be different. His relatives were fools to think otherwise.

“If Cyrus gives you trouble—“

“I can handle whatever he throws,” Tom interrupted. “He is a child, a _growing_ child, and what he knows is only the art of pettiness and certain measures of cruelty.”

Scorpius almost wanted to protest. He knew what his grandson could do, and certainly Rhadamanthus was a child as well, but—

“I’ll take care of him, too,” Harry said. “Cyrus, I mean. We _do_ have to uphold the united front of the first years, don’t we?” He smiled cheekily.

“Of course, actions will only be taken in retaliation,” Tom continued. “He _is_ family, after all.” The foreboding tone he had used implied the future of Cyrus if he _wasn’t_ a Malfoy.

Scorpius couldn’t doubt that together they would at least do _something_. _What_ that something was, the art of revenge instrumented by two youthful magical prodigies, was a mystery, and he couldn’t help but pray he never found out.

“…Very well, but if your… _confidence_ proves to be mistaken, alert me of it. He is my grandson, and will act in ways that will be like a Malfoy, _not_ an uneducated heathen.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” answered Harry lazily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The REAL chapter 3.


	4. Chapter IV

As the two first year Slytherins ascended the staircase, they were met with the small group of other first years immediately as they entered the dorm.  The six boys formed a makeshift half circle, some standing by their beds and others stepping out to fill in a slot.

“Hello,” one said cautiously, stepping forward. “We… we heard you called by Professor Malfoy, so we thought we’d wait for you to come back to start introductions.”

“ _You_ did…” a boy with dirty blond hair muttered on his left, and received a scolding glare for his comment.

“Sorry about my friend,” the boy said again nervously. “He’s a bit antisocial… uh… really friendly once you get to know him though!”

Harry took pity on the boy. He was at least _trying_ to be nice… “It’s alright. I understand.”

Tom scowled.

“Uh… I guess… I’ll start…? I’m Ignis Arkwright. This is my friend—“

“I can introduce myself,” the blond rudely interrupted. “Alexander Chase. Not very pleased to meet you.”

At about this time, Harry recognized them from the grand stairs before the Great Hall. Arkwright had been in the small group of muggleborns, and though Chase had been with him the boy was a half-blood. Quite an unruly one if he remembered correctly—probably the only reason the pureblood boys weren’t picking on Arkwright at the moment was because of him.

Tom could sense it as well, the power that Chase had. Arkwright wasn’t bad by any means either—but both of their auras were unrefined and, obviously, weaker than his and Harry’s. But they had potential, if only someone could polish their raw, untamed magics…

“I’m Darius Nott,” the next boy over quietly said, glancing up from his book. He pushed his glasses up as they slid down the bridge of his nose, a testimony to the amount of time he spent reading. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

And so in a circle they went, moving forth from “Marcus Faulkner,” to “Gerald Rosier,” to “Julius Rayleigh.”

“I’m Persepheus Jameson,” Harry introduced himself; since he came before Tom as they went clockwise. “Hadrian to my friends. Nice to meet you all.”

“Rhadamanthus Malfoy,” Tom drawled, “Don’t bother me, I don’t bother you. Quite a simple concept, really.”

Alexander snorted. “Most people who say that are _asking_ for trouble.”

“And people who reply are looking to _start_ trouble,” Tom smoothly answered back.

“Alex, don’t fi—“Ignis pleaded, but was cut off.

“I’m not asking for your opinion, Ignis,” he hissed. “And who said I wanted to? _Malfoy’s_ just getting what he’s got coming to him.”

“It’d be very wise not to make any threats you find you’re unable to follow up on,” Harry finally said. He silenced the whole room with a piercing gaze. “Let’s not have _any_ sort of mishap. We’ll have to deal with each other for the rest of the year, and the years beyond that. Make nice instead of war, right? It’d be a shame if the dorm became a battleground.”

“Jameson’s right,” Julius volunteered. “I’d rather _not_ have to dodge spells if I come up looking for a book for my next class.”

“Hmph,” Alexander scoffed, but turned away anyways, making Ignis sigh in relief.

“That goes for you too, Tom,” Harry said without even a glance at his companion, who was predictably wearing a miniscule smirk on his face.

“Why, who said I didn’t agree with you, precious?” Tom purred in reply. He lowered his voice, hissing, “rather, on the contrary in fact. Already taking charge, aren’t we? This will be a _fine_ year…”

 _Damn_. He had fallen for that one, hadn’t he? Harry sighed tiredly. “Alright. Enough with you. Let’s go to bed—classes are tomorrow and I’d prefer not to be running down the halls on my first day.”

The other boys seemed to agree as well, silent as it was, and they all snapped out of their idleness and began preparations to sleep.

As Tom and Harry’s two beds were shrouded in their notice-me-not and illusion charms, no one noticed that Harry didn’t even bother crawling into his own bed. He slid into Tom’s, finding the bed pleasantly bigger than the one he had in Gryffindor’s, though still quite small, and waited in silence as his companion removed his shirt as well and moved under the covers. They both simultaneously moved closer to each other, skin touching with one arm curled between them each, hands brushing. Their other hands came to immediately rest on the other’s hips, loosely slung over as if ready to keep the other in place.

The warmth of the covers despite the chill of the dungeons was soothing, but Tom’s proximity and how both of their magics came to curl over them both in another blanket were warmer still. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, unconsciously sighing as he knew he would get the best sleep in a long time.

They were home.

* * *

 

Waking up was an arduous process that neither Tom nor Harry liked. Or appreciated. It brought them both out of the comfort of blissful sleep, but at the very least, they woke up with legs tangled together, somehow closer than they had fallen asleep as (like that was even _possible_ , but apparently it was, as Harry ended up practically on _top_ of Tom…). He blinked tiredly, trying to accept the reality that _yes,_ he was awake, but it was somewhat difficult as the humid warmth from their close bodies kept his mind lazy and unresponsive.

“Good morning,” he had barely heard Tom murmur.

“Mmmm…” Harry groaned, rolling over so his back faced his companion. He was met with the near edge of the bed until Tom pulled him back, hands on his waist to have easy control of him.

The skin on skin contact was welcome in Harry’s hazy world, so he accepted the manhandling without much protest. If anything, he made a sound of approval and leaned back into Tom’s chest, sinking back into his almost-sleep state as the sweaty heat made him unresisting.

But the world wasn’t always so easy. “What time is it?” he mumbled with a sigh, said with so little effort that Tom couldn’t even hear the first word.

“About the time we should be getting up,” replied Tom with much better diction.

“Stupid Tom,” Harry groaned. “ _You’re_ a dark lord. Freeze time.”

“I would, but that involves getting up to draw the ritual circle, so—“

“Go be a genius and figure out how to do it without moving,” yawned Harry.

“Too much effort.” He felt Tom nuzzle his hair.

“Ass—“

“ _You’re_ the magical prodigy. Why don’t _you_ freeze time?”

“You have more experience with _dastardly deeds that shan’t be done_ than me. Sad to say my magical prowess is severely confined to the _dueling_ and _escaping_ areas, so you’ll have to make due.”

Tom sighed. “We need to get up, Harry.”

“ _You_ get up, then.”

And he did, or well, _attempted_ to, because just as quickly Harry pulled him back down. “I was joking. Stay.”

Tom snorted. “Such a child, precious. Can’t even make up your mind?”

“Too tired.”

He sighed. Harry heard him mutter something that vaguely sounded like, “ _I really didn’t want to do this, but—“_

He didn’t even have time to wonder what _this_ was, because next he knew he was jumping up, the shock that felt like the contents of an icy bucket of cold water had just been dumped on him crashing through his system.

“You’re going to pay for that!” Harry gasped, sending a glare to his companion.

“Sleeping with you is clearly bad for my health,” Tom commented as he ignored the sharp look. “I’ll become too lazy to do _anything_ of importance.”

“Fine. Then tonight, I’ll sleep in my own bed, you prat—“

“Don’t be so rash, darling—“

“I’ll show _you_ rash—!”

And that was how their morning began. Not the best of starts, but it got them up, and as they finally finished showering and getting dressed, idly bickering about nothing at all along the way, the duo left the dorm, either ignoring or oblivious to the calculating stare Darius Nott gave them.

Breakfast was a calmer affair, to say the least.

* * *

 

Being with Tom had made Harry very, very lazy. He used to be just fine getting up in the mornings without complaint, even if inwardly he felt a great desire to roll back to wherever he had come from and return to the world of sleep. Nowadays, though, waking up in soft, luscious comforters on a pile of pillows, as well as to the knowledge that Tom could possibly be stopping by for or after breakfast, had made Harry undeniably slow in his daily routines.

But that was okay. He had Tom to make sure he didn’t bump into people. In fact, Harry was clinging to his arm as they walked from the Great Hall to the Transfiguration classroom, their first class of the day. Afterwards it would be Charms, and then lunch.

They both ignored the stares and whispers that followed them, perfectly content in their bubble of privacy that had somehow formed. Tom wasn’t lying when he said he would take over Slytherin, but this time he would go about a more… flashy route. He refused to be a submissive first year just because he was expected to be—no, this time around, there was no point in trying to fit in.

Besides, they’d all be obeying his every whim soon enough. There was no need to rush— _Harry_ , on the other hand, was an important matter that needed to be taken care of. Constantly.

“Stop thinking like that, prat,” said person mumbled, his voice muffled by a drowsy layer. “I don’t need to be taken care of like a child.”

“You usually don’t complain when I do it anyways,” Tom mused.

“That’s because you’re weird like that. ‘Sides, I take care of you just as much, so I thought it was some unspoken agreement between us.”

“Oh? _Do_ humor me.”

“Well, you never towel dry your hair. _I_ do that—“

“I dry myself with magic. Did you forget that we’re wizards?”

“Tom, there’s just some things that should be done manually. Anyways, I cook—“

“Only when you stay over at _my_ house—“

“I make your plate—“

“Because I make _yours_ —“

“I brush your hair—“

“Precious, that’s your guilty pleasure—“

“I make sure you go home on time before your mother starts to worry about you—“

“I’ve slept over enough times that she can’t possibly believe I’ve been kidnapped or taken hostage—“

“I give you a massage when you’ve obviously stayed in the wrong position too long while reading a book—“

“Only because you feel guilty for not stopping me earlier in the first place—“

“I wake you up when you have nightmares, even when you’re all the way in the other wing—“

“Now _that_ is a mutual, unspoken agreement that we _both_ do for each other—“

“I’m rather compliant whenever you ask for anything, even when it’s unreasonable—“

“Name one time.”

“Tom, you asked me to make an… _impressive_ display of _accidental_ magic because you wanted to finish the last chapter of a wand core theory book without anyone disturbing you.”

“That’s not unreasonable—“

“It is when you asked for said display to be very distracting, very _intricate_ , and made in the next thirty seconds. Honestly, I can’t _believe_ you thought I could make up a realistic situation in which accidental magic could occur in _thirty_ —“

“Point taken,” Tom interrupted. “But you _don’t_ do _everything_ I ask you to do.”

Harry snorted. “Of course not! I’m not stupid, you know. You’d completely abuse that. And didn’t you notice that I said “rather compliant”? I’m definitely not going to manually count the number of grains of rice in a bucket for you… nor am I going to manipulate someone innocent for a mischievous deed unless you give me a damn good reason—“

“You and your hero complex. I can’t believe you still have that after all these years—“

“It’s not a _hero complex_ ,” stressed Harry. “It’s called having morals. A sense of what’s right from what’s wrong—“

“I don’t know about that, precious. I think I’ve corrupted you there,” Tom mused.

“Name one example.”

“You now think it’s perfectly fine if all the imbeciles that exist in the Wizarding World to become sterile, if only their stupidity proves dangerous.”

“…Are you _really_ using that as your argument—“

“It’s _true_. You told me so.”

“ _Yes,_ _after_ you spiked my drink when we were seven because you thought it was a brilliant idea to develop a resistance to alcohol at an _early age_ —“

“I was teasing you. And you have to admit, the way you went on about how much Lucius Malfoy pissed you off, and then continued to actually _go to his portrait_ and _wandlessly throw forks at it_ —“

“Oh, so you want to play like _that_ , hmm? Well, I’ll never forget how you told me that in your fifth year, you refrained from eating meat to lighten your head for a whole three weeks because you needed unicorn hair—“

“And it worked,” interrupted Tom. “I went into the Forbidden Forest rather light headed, ran into some unicorns, refrained from doing some dastardly deed that was _ever so tempting_ when they first resisted giving me a few strands, and got the hair. _You_ , on the other hand—“

“This is getting us nowhere and giving me a headache,” Harry groaned, burying his face into his companion’s sleeve. “Are we there yet?”

“Yes, in fact, we are,” Tom replied amusedly. “If I ask the house elves for some tea before Charms, since you clearly don’t have enough energy to, will that make you feel better?”

“A lot,” he admitted. “Please?”

“Of course, precious.”

The way Tom had said that in his light, mocking tone would’ve been enough for a glare if Harry wasn’t so dead tired. He figured that Tom had started their whole argument in the first place to make him even more exhausted, thus quite clingy, and somehow this would all round about to—

To—

 _Merlin_ , he couldn’t even remember where his train of thought had been leading.

“Do you think Teddy has some chocolate on him?” Harry mumbled his question.

“Perhaps. You made sure he got into the habit as well, didn’t you?”

“Mmm…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what I'm doing. I hate OCs a lot but it seems inevitable that I have to bring them in, considering this is a future fic ._." Please bear with me D8.
> 
> But Tom and Harry are so cute and OTL


	5. Chapter V

 

Ignis sighed as he rolled the ladder to a particular book shelf. He _could’ve_ gotten the book he wanted by magic, but he didn’t know the summoning spell, and the librarian looked and sounded as mean as he thought she was. It was too intimdating, so he just… just…

 _Couldn’t._ If only he could be as calm and composed as Alex…

“Just go up and ask,” Alexander snorted as he watched his friend from below. He was lounging on a chair, feet on the table as they were in a secluded corner away from judgmental eyes. “Honestly Ignis, you need to grow a spine.”

He could almost _see_ the roll of the eyes. Ignis huffed. “Well… well—“he sagged against the wooden ladder,”—I just… don’t want to be impolite.”

“If you ask her then maybe she would do her job correctly,” Alexander pointed out.

“It’s _fine_ ,” he stressed tirelessly. “Besides, this type of thing breeds independence, right?”

“Whatever you say,” the half-blood muttered, reclining as his arms stretched up to support his neck. “Just don’t blame me when you fall.”

Ignis shook his head. “I won’t _fall_ ,” he said exasperatedly. “Honestly, doesn’t that only happen in the movies? The shy damsel climbing up a ladder to get whatever she needs, dramatically slipping _somehow_ and landing in the arms of the handsome hero?”

Alexander shrugged. “Truth in tales, lies in truth.”

The muggleborn sighed and shook his head again. _Honestly,_ his friend was just… just… there wasn’t any word to describe what Alex was, because he knew he wasn’t all lazy and rude with a bad personality. Alex was kind, and gentle, and calm, and collected, and stood up for him. Ignis knew this well.

_Now, where is that book I was—?!_

“Oh!” Ignis gasped, his hand stretched up to reach for a book while he stood on the tip of his toes. The pose caused him to lose his balance as he stretched a bit _too far_ , one leg off the step, while he managed to slide the book out of its slot, inevitably causing him to teeter himself. The book was unexpectedly heavy, and his hand wasn’t prepared to take the weight, and he watched in horror as the book fell out of his hands straight towards his head.

It hit, of course, though he had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and brace for impact.

“Ignis—!” Alexander breathed, leaping out of his chair but knowing in his heart he wouldn’t make it to catch his friend. He should’ve sat closer to the damned shelf, should’ve ignored the call of the soft, lazy sunlight that made him feel drowsy and at home, should’ve ignored the call of a chair instead of a stool—

His arms were outstretched, ready to catch nothingness, and—

“Hu—huh?” Ignis blinked, expecting the ground to be a lot… harder? He knew it was carpet, but this was a little _too_ plush for even his wild imagination to let fly, so what _did_ he land on—?

“Are you alright, Arkwright?” asked a soft voice from beneath him.

“Wh—Oh! Per—Jameson!” he cried, letting loose a small squeak as he had almost forgotten his manners. Two years in the States had left him grasping for the old British etiquette that had been ingrained in his manners.

Harry smiled from his spot on the floor, his upper body lifted with his elbows as his classmate was semi-lying semi-sitting atop his legs and lower bust. He looked completely unbothered by the scenario, even as Ignis, flustered and embarrassed, stammered out apologies and thanks. “As long as you’re fine,” he said calmly. “I’m not hurt at all.”

“But I landed right on top of you!” cried Ignis, forgetting that he was in a library.

“Hmm, yes, but that was partly my fault. I didn’t think I’d be able to catch you so I slid underneath to cushion the fall.”

“That’s… oh… thank you so much! I’m sorry for causing you problems—“

“It’s _fine_ ,” Harry chuckled, though a bit breathlessly. “It’d be better if I could get up though.”

Ignis let loose another _eep_ as he scrambled to stand, shyly holding out his hand once he rose to help his classmate get up.

“Hmm,” Tom murmured, causing both Ignis and Alexander to jump. “The book seems to be alright.”

“Rha—Malfoy? When did you get here?”

Said was casually leaning against the bookshelf running parallel to the debacle, experienced hands flipping through the text that Ignis had dropped.

“Same time as Harry,” he drawled, and instead of letting Harry take Ignis’ hand, the other boy batted it away and took the courtesy of helping him up. “You should take better care of the books in this library. Some are very, _very_ old.”

“Oh…” Ignis swallowed nervously, “I… I know… I’m sorry! I’ll try not to—“

“Tom,” Harry sighed, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t pick on him.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Alexander finally snarled, pushing his way into the confrontation as he stood in front of Ignis protectively. “He just _fell_ and you’re seriously going to pay more attention to a stupid _book_?”

Tom merely gazed at the enraged half-blood, looking for all his grace and calm the epitome of subtle superiority. “I know my priorities,” he said firmly, “and if you think this _book_ is so unimportant, why not try damaging it yourself and play a merry chase with the house elves and Madame Pince?”

“Stop,” Harry sighed softly. “Don’t start fights—especially not in a library. Besides, shouldn’t we all be a bit more quiet? I’m sure the librarian will come check on us soon, and if she’s anything like her grandmother, it won’t be fun.”

 _That_ silenced them.

“Hmph,” Alexander huffed. “Whatever,” he grumbled, “…thanks for saving Ignis, Jameson.”

“Y—yeah,” Ignis stuttered, “thanks. Really! You saved me a trip to the hospital wing… but wait! What about you? Don’t you need to—“

Harry smiled. “It wasn’t a problem, and I’m just fine, thanks. Tom’s really quick with his cushioning charms.”

“Oh!” he blinked, looking surprised. “Er, thanks to you too, Rha—Malfoy.”

Tom stared at him before sighing. “Oh, very well. Be more careful next time.” He handed over the book that had fallen.

“In light of the situation,” Harry began suddenly, “You may call me Hadrian, if I can call you Ignis…?”

The muggleborn lit up. “Yes! You can call me Ignis… er, Hadrian!”

He smiled. “Yes. The same courtesy extends to Alexander, if he wishes…?”

Alexander licked his lips, gaze turning to somewhere off to the side. “Do what you want,” he said.

“I will,” Tom replied, somewhat out of place but drawing everyone’s attention as he gazed at the half-blood, “…Alexander.”

The boy snapped his head back up and shot the Malfoy a glare. “Hmph! Whatever, _Tom_.”

The second the name left his mouth, all of them felt the atmosphere turn cold. It was like a switch had been flicked, a window opened and a violent breeze taking its chance and pushing through that window.

“Sorry, Alexander,” Harry apologized quietly as he subtly slid his hand to entwine with Tom’s. “Those names are reserved between us. Rhadamanthus is perfectly fine, but “Tom” and “Harry” aren’t anyone else’s right.”

Slowly, as if transfixed by something in that green, green gaze, Alexander nodded. The atmosphere lightened again, an oppressive, dark aura seeming to be lifted from the small niche in the library. Harry smiled. “Well, we’ll see you two around, alright? Try not to get into any other dangerous trouble, particularly including heights. Hogwarts is rather tall, you know?”

The pairs parted ways, and Ignis stared at the backs of Tom and Harry as they silently departed, entranced until his friend spoke.

“I couldn’t sense them at all,” Alexander mumbled quietly. “I couldn’t… I didn’t even _see_ him, Ignis. It was like one minute I could’ve sworn you would’ve broken something, and the next… he was there.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just too focused on… er… me?” Ignis asked hesitantly. “You don’t miss anything, Alex.”

Alexander frowned. “Yeah, but apparently now I do. They’re powerful, Ignis. You should be careful around them… especially Malfoy. He’s got the more standoffish aura.”

“…I think it’ll be alright,” replied the muggleborn after a second’s thought. “Rhadamanthus might be rather unfriendly, but so are you. He isn’t necessarily _bad_. And Hadrian’s definitely nice—he saved me. I don’t think he would’ve done that if he wanted to do harm or anything like that. I… Alex, I don’t think they’ll _strike first_ , so to speak. _You’re_ the one I’m worried about.”

“…Sorry,” Alexander sighed. “Just… something about Malfoy ticks me off. It really gets to me—like I _need_ to fight him, or something…. Whatever. It’s probably nothing in the end—just that guy’s terrible personality or something.”

Ignis hid a smile. “Mhm. Sure. Now, are we going to start on Charms homework or not?”

* * *

 

“I must say, that was very Slytherin of you, precious,” Tom drawled as they walked down one of Hogwarts’ many hallways. “Forcing me to cushion that fall since you knew I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Harry smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he whistled innocently, “I just thought that saving him with some intricate spell would’ve been a tad too suspicious. Rather they think me someone with really good reflexes than a magical prodigy.”

“But you _are_ one.”

“They don’t need to know that,” he scowled. “I like them. I’d scare them away if they knew… or something.”

Tom hummed in reply.

“And what’s up with you and Alexander, anyways? That animosity… I don’t think that’s just because you spoke rudely or something.”

“I’ll… tell you later,” seeing Harry’s expression, Tom continued, “when I’m sure.”

“Hmm… if you say so. Though, it’s not every day that you admit that you’re not confident about something…”

“This time, I’d rather confirm than assume,” waved off Tom. “It’s certainly not a light matter… and if I’m right, then I commend you for attracting _more_ possibilities for trouble to strike. You really _are_ a danger magnet precious—“

“Completely not my fault. You started it.”

“I think you would’ve found trouble even if I never existed.”

Harry shrugged at Tom’s musing. “Who knows. Hey, maybe we should make a schedule of the things that we want to do… I feel like we actually have _free time_. Weren’t we supposed to be busy?”

“Weren’t you the one saying _just kick back and relax_? Don’t tell me you’re _missing_ work—“

“Hey!”

Tom chuckled at his companion’s expense. “If you’re _really_ that _bored_ , then perhaps a wager would interest you…?”

* * *

 

The empty hallway of the third floor was actually somewhat disconcerting, what with a giant gargoyle standing guard in front of the Headmaster’s office. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much that it was big that it was both Harry and Tom were… _small_. Short. Eleven year old boys instead of the adults they had been when they last had stood in front of this very same entrance.

“Password?” it growled at them, sounding more grumpy than menacing.

Tom turned to Harry. Harry looked right back at him. “…This might prove a problem,” he said sheepishly.

“You don’t know the password? She’s your _goddaughter_.”

“Last I knew her was when she was on the cusp of womanhood! A child turning into an adult! Who knows what she’s gone through at this point in her life. Her password could be _anything_.”

Tom shrugged. “Guess.”

“You are _such_ a _big help_ ,” Harry muttered under his breath. He turned back to the gargoyle. “Uh, songbird? Swift flight? Whistling of the wind?”

“How the _hell_ did you think up _those_ passwords?”

“Well, little ‘Mione always wanted to fly when she was little… Like, _actually_ fly as a bird. At the time she was living in a small house with a huge backyard, and she would always go there and—“

“Question answered. Keep trying,” Tom waved.

Harry glared. “No need to be an ass about it,” he grumbled before continuing. “Robin’s call? Uncle Louis? Aunt Victoire? Roses?” he paused, thinking for a second,”…Grandpa Harry?”

“Close,” the gargoyle grunted, “but no dice, kid. Go back to your dorms, won’t you? You’ve clearly got no business here.”

“Hello, Mister Jameson,” a voice from behind called, causing both of them to turn, “any particular urgency you have to speak to the Headmistress?”

“T—Professor Lupin,” Harry greeted, “err, none of great consequence? But it would be _great_ if we _could_ get inside…”

Teddy raised a brow. “Up to mischief?”

“No such thing sir,” Tom replied with a straight face. He decided to take a jab in the dark. “…but, if we were to accidentally or indirectly cause some harmless, embarrassing scenario to occur, it certainly wouldn’t be our fault. Just so you know.”

“Indeed?” the Transfiguration Professor’s reply was immediate. “Well then, if that’s the case, the password is _to fly is to further rise, as to fall is to have been great in the first place.”_

The gargoyle jumped aside, and Harry whipped around to exclaim, “Hey! I wasn’t close at all! What gives?”

Teddy smiled. “Ah, but Mister Jameson, you were. It’s a troublesome password, quite long you see, but she made it with a Lord Harry Potter in mind… her godfather, if you didn’t know. She often called him Grandpa Harry.”

Harry bit his lip. “…Oh,” he said softly.

“Well now! Shall we ascend?” the werewolf smiled kindly, ushering them in and then up the stairs until they stood in front of the grand double doors that led inside the office.

Harry knocked, though he knew there was no real need to. As the Headmistress, his goddaughter surely knew they were there through the intricate wards that she was bonded to, just as he had been in his past life.

The doors swung open.

The Headmaster’s office was, as always, filled with bookshelves that were in turn filled with books upon books, all of varying lengths. No longer was there a perch for the phoenix Fawkes, as he had long ago parted since Harry’s own service as Headmaster. The whirling, whistling instruments that had been so at home in Dumbledore’s life were gone, replaced with other nick-knacks that were personalized to the current Headmaster—or in this case, Headmistress.

Two plush chairs were standing in front of the main desk, on which a small mess of papers currently lay, waiting to be checked over or written on. Who knew. The large, clearly comfortable chair that was behind the desk served as the plush seat for Headmistress Hermione Weasley, who was smiling at them kindly as they entered.

“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve personally met yet, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Jameson.”

“No,” Tom said after a small stretch of silence, “we haven’t.”

She looked at them both curiously. “Was there anything you two needed? It’s not every day I receive a visit from students, first years no less. I hope you two haven’t any trouble to report…?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Teddy laughed, “or so says them. Take a seat boys, and feel free to make yourself at home and relax a bit. No need to look so stiff and formal!”

“Why now, the nerve!” a gruff voice huffed from the side. “You all think they’re guests for _you_ , but instead, haven’t you even thought of them being guests for _me_? Perhaps I made a good impression on them, and perhaps them on me, and I happened to invite them over for a nice chat whenever they were free! Honestly, always thinking about yourselves—“

“Hello to you too, Hat,” Teddy cut in, quite amused. “Tell me, you two, is he right?”

Harry grinned. “Mmm… sort of.”

“Hmm,” Tom hummed before strolling over to where the Sorting Hat was placed on top of a shelf. “We’ve never really spoken, have we, Solomon?”

“No, we haven’t, Mr. Malfoy, but you know just as well as I do that _I_ know you very, very well… isn’t that right, lad? And wherever did you hear my name from?”

Tom’s lips twisted into some sort of smile. “Where do you think?”

“Guilty,” chirped Harry with a lack of sheepishness that his actual words would’ve implied. “I don’t remember how, but it came up in a conversation.”

“And what sort of conversation would _that_ be, Mr. Jameson?” the Headmistress asked curiously. “Why, I hadn’t thought anyone but the older Headmasters knew the Sorting Hat’s name!”

“A hat named Solomon,” Teddy chuckled suddenly. “Why, only Gryffindor would do something like that!”

Harry grinned. “It was a strange conversation,” he replied enigmatically. “Would you mind terribly if I remove him from his place?”

Still somewhat baffled, but by now with a hint of amusement towards the situation, the Weasley waved her hand in acquiescence, and immediately the first year moved to take the Sorting Hat off of its shelf and plop it onto his head, a hand moving over to entwine his fingers with Tom’s.

“So you’ve made a bet with Mr. Riddle, hmm? Oh, damn! It’s Mr. Malfoy now, isn’t it? Well nevertheless, you and young Tom still _technically_ go by the same initials…” boomed the Hat within Harry’s mind.

“I suppose we do, don’t we?” Harry laughed. “RTM and PHJ. What a coincidence! Anyways, I was wondering about _your_ take on our bet, Solomon.”

“You probably won’t be able to conclude it today,” the Hat mentioned, “just take a look at the portraits!”

Tom looked over instead, completely glossing over the two very curious stares of the adults. Indeed, it was true, the portrait in question—two before the last—held the remnants of the late Albus Dumbledore, who was, undoubtedly, sleeping.

“That’s a shame,” murmured Tom.

The Hat laughed. “So you think it is!” it exclaimed into Harry’s mind. “He was awake on the first day, but recently has just fallen into some sort of slumber. Curious, isn’t it? If you want to instead place your wager on _Severus_ instead, now, _that_ is a completely—“

“No thanks,” interrupted Tom, also within the privacy of Harry’s mind.

“We’ll come back later,” added Harry, “and you can watch for some entertainment, if you wish.”

“I’ll be sure to,” replied the Hat. “Oh! And before you go, let me warn you, young Harry… that you’re making a very dangerous gamble getting with Mr. Chase and Mr. Arkwright.”

“Dangerous?”

“Perhaps in a loose sense of the word. After all, what’s not true in high risk for high reward? Think on it, why won’t you? And while you do that, know you’re always welcome here—to visit, that is. Just tell the gargoyle that you’re due to visit the Sorting Hat, and he’ll let you right in. We have a sort of pact, you see.”

Harry blinked. “…Sure. Thanks.”

Tom took the old, ratty hat off of Harry’s head and placed it where it had been originally. They both turned to the two professors who were still looking at them with a bemused gaze and smiled with a sort of finality that would conclude their visit.

“Thank you, Professors,” Harry said politely, shooting a small smile at Teddy when he grinned. “If it’s not too much of a disturbance, we’d like to visit that Hat again someday.”

The Headmistress smiled. “Of course. You’re always welcome here. If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask—either your Head of House, or me. Any other professors would eagerly assist you as well.”

“Of course,” replied Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happening this chapter but next time there'll be at least a bit of plot? Maybe?


	6. Chapter VI

Time passed quickly as all of the first years learned how to settle in within the comfortable walls of Hogwarts. Soon enough, it was two weeks in to the first month of school, and most students had already made known their individual packs and prides. There was a group of Gryffindor boys who, Harry thought fondly, seemed to be the new Fred and George—loving pranks and whatnot—though the downside was that they too had a bloodlust for unsuspecting Slytherins.

Not that he and Tom had ever fallen _into_ one of said pranks, but he hardly wanted to see the other first year snakes become victims of a humiliating experience. Nevertheless, the boys were generally harmless other than the emotional aspect their actions roused, so Harry decided to turn a blind eye to _that_ … for now.

There was also a mixed gender group of first year Ravenclaws who were, in the most general sense, a study group. They were small in numbers, but well known in their classes for knowing all the answers and having a deep understanding of the subject that was unusual in the first few years as a Claw (considering their learning mostly stemmed from textbooks). Thus, _any_ first year from _any_ house had the tendency to gravitate to them for help, since they were easily found at the library when they weren’t attending classes.

Hufflepuff was much more close-knit. Even though they too had their separate bands of friends and familiars, those tiny clusters often merged with each other, forming somewhat of a more cohesive system than the other houses, much to Harry and Tom’s amusement. Individually they both found nothing special or noteworthy, but they both knew better than to simply overlook the badgers for the rest of their seven years, so calmly left their eyes and ears open in that regard.

Of course, things were happening in Slytherin too. Though there was already a “ruler” of the snakes, of course in the form of Cyrus Malfoy, that didn’t mean that none of the incoming first or second years were wallflowers. They were slowly learning the ropes, quietly and sometimes loudly depending on their preference and style, just waiting to pull dominance and leadership to _them_ so _they_ could be the next rulers.

At first, Tom considered beginning his movement right away. He knew he would get what he wanted eventually, whether it was because he was absolutely right in his self-confidence (how could he not be, when he already went through all of the motions before, and successfully enough to become _the_ Dark Lord as well?), _or_ because he knew that if he wanted something that was sensible and within reach—perhaps even a bit farther than that too—Harry would get it for him… well, never mind; maybe it was a bit of both.

After all, there were only so many things you could get an ex-dark lord for his birthday or a holiday, considering the fact that he had lived for more than five decades and most of those years had been spent diligently studying all of the known and obscure magics he could get a hold of… which was, with his charismatic charm, admittedly a lot.

So, in the end, Tom wasn’t all too worried. He’d either stake his claim in the beginning, or overthrow whoever was in power later on to prove his superiority. It wasn’t a matter of what everyone else was—it was a matter of what _he_ wanted to do; what fit his fancy. He decided to wait a bit longer. In all honesty, there was no rush, and even if it turned out to be a very slow wait, the steady pace and wide range of information he could gather didn’t hurt one bit. It would be interesting to find out who would rise, the expected _and_ the unexpected.

It felt like a game. Maybe it was.

Speaking of games and where they took place, it wasn’t only the common room of Slytherin that proudly displayed their hierarchy. It was here too, in the Great Hall. The long table that stretched from one end of the room to the other was split in half by an imaginary line, the part nearest to the teachers filled with first years and those considered “unimportant”, and the other near the wall filled with those who had connections or who were at the top of the pyramid.

In the middle of that half, Cyrus Malfoy sat on the side that allowed him to see the whole of the Great Hall, enjoying his spot of power as those who he considered his followers sat around him, ordered from most faithful and useful to the lesser—which sat farthest from him. It was the classic set up, really, and Tom remembered when _he_ had sat in that seat of power as well.

Good times.

He also knew that simply because they were sitting farther away didn’t mean they weren’t paying attention to the other half of the table. They were constantly on the prowl for prospective students to join their circle; those with power or those with some type of talent were always welcome. Of course, those with connections _also_ were a no-brainer pick. Tom knew already that they were keeping an eye on he and Harry, the heir to the powerful pureblooded Jameson family and the black sheep of the Malfoys.

Everyone already knew that they were magical prodigies, so now they were looking out for whether or not they were _followers_ , or _leaders_ —competition. And certainly, Cyrus Malfoy already knew it was the latter…

Ignis and Alexander entered the Great Hall somewhat late compared to their fellow first years. The former looked at the table nervously, as if in debate on where to sit. It wouldn’t have been a problem if they had come earlier, but now the first years were already in their individual groups and—

Tom sighed. It seemed like Harry was going to make the first move, much to his surprise and disappointment. Oh well—all the more chances that their strange relationship would confuse the older years. In the end, they’d learn either way that there was no such thing as a true dominance in the connection between he and his companion.

“Ignis, Alexander,” Harry called, and his voice was strong and powerful despite the fact that he wasn’t shouting. It was as if he were simply talking to the person next to him, but still it was heard over the boisterous din of the chatter in the Great Hall and several other first and second and third years turned at the sound of his projected voice.

“Why don’t you come sit over here?”  he said, motioning to the empty space beside him. There was always an invisible “bubble” surrounding him and Tom, so there was space on either side of them that no one dared go into, even if they had to move shoulder-to-shoulder with the person on the other side of them.

Ignis brightened, and he and his friend walked with confidence to slide in to the seat offered, completely passing through the “bubble”. It seemed to expand now, enveloping them both, and the first years that had been sitting on Harry’s side immediately scooted over to accommodate. Now it was Alexander sitting next to Ignis, who was beside Harry, who had Tom on his other side.

Something had happened, and the older year Slytherins took note of it quickly.

Ignis Arkwright and Alexander Chase, two first year Slytherins who despite their blood heritage had enough _pure potential_ to be two to look out for. At first glance they may be nothing much to look at, maybe a cause for curiosity with the contradiction made between their conflicting personalities and still close friendship, but not any more than that. But anyone with just a few years living in a magical environment could sense the raw magic they both held simmering under the surface, the _possibilities_ that held.

And now they were apparently acquaintances of Persepheus Jameson and Rhadamanthus Malfoy… _close_ acquaintances at that, considering the first name basis that the former used.

It was just this single event that took the older snakes off guard; made them wary, and it was also _this_ simple, yet brilliantly calculated move that also eliminated any other first years from the list of potential threats. It was clear that the younger Malfoy and heir Jameson would wipe all of them out of the running anyways, and leave only themselves as candidates. There was no point in watching out for any other eleven year old at the table.

From then on, Ignis Arkwright and Alexander Chase sat nowhere else at the table. They no longer roamed up and down the second half, filled with the quiet and unimportant Slytherins. No, they sat right next to Harry and Tom, included in that little bubble that no longer seemed simply like a claim of territory— _no,_ it was as if now that bubble existed _outside_ , in a realm not a part of the second half, a realm that was physically _at_ the Slytherin table, but psychologically part of neither side.

A daring and bold first move to make—but the _only_ move for the first month.

Cyrus Malfoy felt it, felt it as deeply as if it were ingrained in his very bones. _Something_ was stirring, but as to when it would rise or _what_ exactly was it, he didn’t know. The sense of foreboding never disappeared, even as nothing happened to support the feeling of danger welling up inside of him. Was it a threat to him? A threat to his followers? Or maybe… something bigger? Something school-wide? Something that would eventually signal the change of the Wizarding World as he knew it?

He simply didn’t know.

* * *

 

Ignis gasped, scrambling backwards on all fours, an unconscious mirror of a crab walk, and the only thing that stopped him from scooting back further was his collision with the smooth wall behind him. His breath came out in heavy puffs, fearfully watching the scene before him in disbelief. There was a _reason_ why no one picked on him, despite being a muggleborn in Slytherin and despite the fact that his personality was a far cry away from the cool, calm and collected image his house was _supposed_ to portray.

There was a _reason._ And what else could it be other than the animalistic instincts that told prey from predator, from predator from prey? It was a dominant force, that instinct—the feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when _something_ was going to happen—and no matter how badly humans wanted to suppress it, to prove the laughable concept of their own humanity, it was still _always_ there.

Ignis didn’t know whether he was the prey or the predator. _Alex,_ on the other hand, was most definitely the latter, and his constant presence beside Ignis claimed him as some untouchable thing lest the perpetrators awaken the beast. It had always been like that, Alex the guardian, Ignis the protected. The occurrences where that relationship was actually _shown_ were rare, and thankfully far in between, but…

Ignis hadn’t thought about what would happen if something like _this_ happened in _Hogwarts_!

It had been blatant bullying. Two Slytherin third years from a little below average in power families—though purebloods nonetheless—had mocked him a couple of times; no big deal, only verbal action… He could deal with _that_. But then, during one particular dinner as he was walking alone to the Great Hall slightly late, they had decided to get a bit… physical with their bullying.

And Alex hadn’t liked that. He hadn’t liked it at _all_.

His friend had managed to find him being roughed up in an abandoned classroom, having just caught up after putting something back inside of their dorm. Nothing important, really, and Alex had said he’d only be a moment—but the moment had been long enough for the two bullies to feel safe.

They obviously weren’t feeling safe any longer.

Ignis gulped, feeling the fan of heat from the flames that were currently dancing around the classroom brush against his face. They wouldn’t hurt _him_ —no, of course not!—but he wasn’t worried for himself right now. Hell, in all honesty he wasn’t even that worried about the two bullies! No, he was worried about _Alex_ , who didn’t even look like Alex anymore. All Ignis could make out was a swirl of fire in the center of the room, dominating and powerful, _furious_.

And no matter how cruel it seemed, how violent and horrifying it was, for Alex to be toying with those bullies, using his flames to frighten and torture and singe… no matter how real and merciless it looked, Ignis knew that _this wasn’t Alex_.

Alex was a genuinely good person, deep inside. He was caring, and kind, but the world had shaped and molded him, making him force that goodness to hide away so nothing could taint it. Ignis knew the _real_ Alex wouldn’t want to hurt these boys like _this_! Not… not like… not like he was going to make them suffer before _killing_ them! But that was what he was doing, and Ignis just wanted him to _stop_ , _stopstopstop_ because when Alex calmed down, he would feel immense guilt, a terrifying sorrow, _shame_ for the death of two children that, though were bullies, hadn’t _deserved_ a death sentence.

He didn’t want Alex to feel that pain. He didn’t want Alex to hurt like that, to _suffer_ the rest of his life with the deed weighing down on his shoulders; _killing_ for the sake of vengeance against petty deeds.

“Alex!” Ignis cried, trying to pull his friend’s attention away from the cowering and screaming bullies. “Alex, _stop_! You don’t want to do this, Alex! _Stop it!_ ”

But Alex wasn’t paying attention. All of his focus, his anger, his rage… it was all on the two boys before him, not on Ignis.

“This isn’t you, Alex!” he tried again, begging and pleading and trying to convey his desperation in his still undeveloped voice. “You’re better than this! I _know_ you are!”

But no matter how much Ignis believed in his friend’s goodness, inside he knew that this _was_ the real Alex—or at least a part of him. This crazed, spontaneous, fiery and quick tempered being _was_ Alex.

He almost lost hope. _Almost_.

Then it happened—a stutter in the whirlwind of hot and wild and _anger_. It was as if something tried to stop it, tried to slow the pace, tried to unclench the stranglehold that the fire had on the two boys’ lives. Ignis immediately knew that Alex _had_ heard his voice, heard him and was trying to _do something_. But it was hard to fight against yourself, and Ignis thought it was almost like how he had to push down the stupid, _human_ fear inside of him of the flames suddenly turning on him, because though he _logically_ knew they would not harm _him_ , it was still against all the common sense he knew.

“Alex,” Ignis called again as he struggled to get up. “Alex, I—“

He saw it as clear as day, the hesitation and how the fire seemed reluctant now. Yet still it was not enough—they both knew that. Alex wasn’t strong enough to fight against himself and _win_ , not when he was feeling the anger too. Not when he understood the rage and felt it was a justified feeling—he just didn’t like the actions that it caused.

Ignis knew his voice was not enough either, no matter how close they were, no matter _what_ Alex had vowed to him in the past. It simply wasn’t enough. More than emotions, more than a support to their own current powers, they needed _raw strength_. They needed someone who could stop this, who could _forcefully_ quell the fire’s rage. They needed—needed—

He thought of Hadrian then, Hadrian and Rhadamanthus. _They_ were both powerful—perhaps even powerful enough to stop this. But would they help? Though they were friends, did that mean he could ask? That they would agree? That they would put their lives on the line? Because certainly, if Alex wasn’t stopped, he _would_ kill, and Ignis couldn’t stand the thought of more innocents being put at risk…

Perhaps it would be better if he got a teacher? But… but no. Then Alex would undoubtedly get into trouble, probably be locked up away somewhere never to see the light of day again. Ignis clenched his hands. He couldn’t let that happen either! But then… what could he do?

He steeled himself. In the end, he would have to ask the two. No, he wouldn’t simply _ask_ —he would beg and cry and plead, get on his knees and prostrate himself to show his desperation. Nothing else mattered except Alex; not pride, not dignity, not honor.

“Alex,” Ignis shouted over the loud crackling of the flames, “I’m going to help you! I’m going… I’m going to get help! Please hold out for a little longer! I’ll be as fast I can! I—“

He paused. He didn’t have much time at all from the looks of it. Still, the resolution shown in Ignis’ eyes, and feeling returned to his legs as he straightened. “ _Trust me,_ Alex,” he said, and without a glance back, he darted out of the room with all the speed he could muster, slamming the door behind him and racing to the Great Hall.

 _Alex_ , he thought, the name thrumming in his head. _Alex._

 _Please, God, or Merlin, or Circe—_ any _deity up there! Zeus, Jupiter, Ra! Let no lives be lost, let me be fast enough, let me be_ strong _enough, please please please pleaseplease…!_

Ignis burst into the Great Hall, his legs aching with how he had driven them overdrive, and he didn’t care that all of the noise had stopped and everyone was staring at him. Perhaps if this had been a different situation he would’ve shyed away, would’ve ducked his head, muttered apologies, acted completely embarrassed. But how could he be embarrassed when Alex, his best, _closest_ friend Alex was in danger of himself? There was simply no point. He didn’t even have the room in his head to think of it.

His eyes frantically scanned the Slytherin table, completely ignoring the teachers who had risen in worry. _There!_ With another dash of speed, he ran over to where Hadrian and Rhadamanthus sat, looking mildly surprised and confused. _Even in situations like this_ , Ignis thought grimly, _they’re still able to keep their cool._

The muggleborn fell to his knees before his two fellow first years, just collapsed and let gravity take him down. “ _Please_ ,” Ignis begged, staring up at them both with desperate eyes, _“_ please! _Help me!”_ He could say no more in that hoarse voice of his, his breath coming out in deep puffs, his red cheeks and unfocused eyes emphasizing his fatigue. Some teachers began to make their way over in a rush. There was absolute silence.

Then, Hadrian smiled. It was a kind smile, close lipped and hardly more than a slight curve of the lips, but that was enough. “Wow, Ignis! Did you really need _that_ much help on your Transfiguration homework? Tom was just teasing when he said you should try harder and figure it out on your own you know! Right, Tom?”

Ignis was confused. So was everyone else—except Rhadamanthus.

The Malfoy sighed. “ _Of course_ I was joking. Honestly, did you really take me that seriously, Ignis?” he asked as he directed a raised brow to the first year still on the floor. Then he stood, getting up out of his seat to stand beside the boy. “Let’s go back to the dorms. Harry and I will make sure you understand every bit of that assignment _and some_ before we let you eat.”

Wide eyed and gapping, Ignis could not help but sputter, “you’ll… You’ll really help me?” He had caught on with what they were doing when he saw, out of the corner of his eyes, the teachers retreating back to their seats muttering something along the lines of _children these days, so dramatic…_

Hadrian gently but firmly rested a hand on his shoulder. “Of course we’ll help you, Ignis,” he declared calmly. It was a heavy sentence, and the weight of those words unexplainably comforted Ignis in ways he didn’t understand. “We’re friends, after all. I’ll always lend a hand when you’re in need of it.”

Hadrian immediately stood, gracefully getting out of his seat just as Rhadamanthus had done a moment ago. “Come now, if we hurry then maybe you’ll still have time to get a bite to eat,” he lightly teased, but Ignis saw the seriousness in those eyes.

The muggleborn scrambled to his feet, and was going to take the lead—certainly they wouldn’t know where Alex was, would they?—but instead was led by a firm grip on his shoulder by Rhadamanthus. Their stride out of the Great Hall was quick, though looked completely natural, and as soon as the doors closed behind them, Hadrian grabbed Ignis by the wrist and began to run as Rhadamanthus let go of his shoulder.

“Uh, it’s on the—“Ignis tried to tell them the floor and the room, but he was cut off by Rhadamanthus running next to him.

“We know.”

Hadrian threw a smile back to him. “You’ve done well, Ignis. I promise Alex will be fine, now follow me.”

Thus was Ignis’ first introduction to the hidden passageways of Hogwarts. He didn’t exactly know _where_ they went as they dived into a seemingly solid wall, ran down a small hallway, took a turn or two somewhere, and suddenly emerged right out of _another_ wall. Surprisingly, they ended up extremely close to where Alex was.

Ignis furrowed his brow. “But wait, how are we on _this_ floor when the Great Hall is—“

“Magic,” Rhadamanthus mockingly drawled.

“Magic,” Hadrian confirmed in a more serious tone. He smiled encouragingly again, never stopping his pace. “Maybe later we’ll explain.”

They quickly burst into the abandoned classroom, and immediately met the face of a still-growing fire.

“Oh no,” Ignis whispered. It had gotten worse. He tried to see through the flames, and much to his relief, caught site of the two bullies, who were still alive but maybe not for long if they didn’t _do something_! “I’ll get us through the flames,” he said confidently and in a rush, “Alex won’t hurt me. When we’re in then you can—“

Malfoy’s sigh cut him off. “A little faith, why won’t you?” he snapped, looking irritated. “A little match stick is _hardly_ going to stop _us_.”

The muggleborn looked at him incredulously. _How could he say something like that?! That_ clearly _is_ not _a_ little match stick _…_

“Harry?” Rhadamanthus’ questioning tone brought Ignis out of shock.

This time, _Hadrian_ sighed. “Alright, fine. Since I’m feeling tired, you have permission to do what you want as long as you don’t hurt anyone doing it. And for Circe’s sake, _please_ don’t mention the bountiful amount of loopholes you can find in that, because I can’t calm down Alexander if you make me irritated.”

The shark-like grin that spread across Rhadamanthus’ face had Ignis deathly worried. _This_ was a _true_ predator before him.

“You’re _so_ good to me, precious,” the Malfoy purred, a _dark_ , _excited_ glint in his eyes.

All at once, Ignis watched in a type of horrified fascination as the fire, which had seemed so _powerful_ and _dangerous_ and _wild_ , be pushed back like a wounded animal. Some invisible, heavy force was pushing at it, easily overcoming the power rage had granted it, and he felt some of the excess of that force pulsing in the air, thick and weighty and it made him feel infinitesimally _small_ and insignificant.

The whirlwind of fire cowered, recognizing that it was greatly weaker than its new adversary, and it reeled back faster than Ignis could have ever imagined. He was shocked to his very core. Even when going up against those stronger than him, Alex had never acted like _this_. He had always stood his ground, fought back, fought to _win_ , and most of the time he did. But now?

There was no fight, no match, no duel. It had been won before it had even started, and the victor? Unquestionably Rhadamanthus. Any other outcome would be ludicrous.

And now that it was clear, Ignis could see the form in the middle of the room, not as abstract as it had once been, but still made of flames. It was more collected now, more _confined_.

Hadrian walked forward into the room. His eyes moved, taking in the wreckage and the two sniveling third years terrified out of their wits against the wall. “I see,” he said softly. “So this was all your doing, Alexander?”

The fire flickered.

“Well, I can’t say I don’t understand,” the Jameson heir continued with a sigh. “But that doesn’t make it any better, does it?”

Again, there was a seemingly significant movement as a reply, something _more_ than the constant burning of flames.

Hadrian chuckled, the sound odd in the situation, but it was warm and friendly and calming. Even Ignis felt it, a sense of peace suddenly flowing through his veins.

“Ignis was very worried about you,” he said. “Did you know? Not for himself, not for _them_ , but for _you_.”

The fire began to shy away.

“Don’t neglect your duties like that,” Hadrian chided. “Isn’t it your job to keep him happy and carefree? Safe and at ease? You’ve done none of that. He got down on his hands and knees for _you_ , begging and pleading for us to help you. You’ve been selfish, Alexander.”

The fire grew, and then shrank, as if it were conflicted.

“That’s okay though. Being selfish is a part of us all. And ultimately, we can’t live without doing things we’re not proud of. You’re a good person, but you have another side of you, too. That’s fine, because we _all_ do. No one is _that_ one-sided, to only be one thing. That’s like a coin without another side—an impossibility.”

Hadrian paused. “I understand, you know. I feared that part of me I didn’t understand, and in the end, I pushed it away. Trust me, _that_ didn’t do any good at all. I lost sight of myself, and became someone I really didn’t want to be—only thought I did. Thought I _was_.”

“But that’s not the point here, is it?” he continued. “You’ve got a temper that you can’t control, and you know what you’ve done is bad, that it’s not _right_ , but you don’t know anything else. Don’t have the _capacity_ to _think_ of anything else right now. And, well, to be honest, there's really nothing that can be done about that. What's done is done, sorry," Hadrian nervously laughed. "On the bright side, the fact that you actually _took action_ is admirable. You didn't just simmer with rage, you threw a temper tantrum! Normally that isn't something to be proud of, but yours was rather impressive. It was really scary! You could've just burned them, but you didn't. You did more. That swirling mass of fire around you? Nice touch."

Rhadamanthus snorted. "Sounds more like something I would say," he muttered under his breath.

The fire flickered again, and then suddenly it wasn’t _fire_ anymore—it was Alexander. He looked dirty and defeated, his head bowed down and his gaze averted to the floor. “Why…” he mumbled, voice hardly audible.

"Hmm? So, why aren't I running away in absolute terror? Well... we're friends, aren't we? Why would I run away when you're clearly in need of help?"

“…Friends?”

Hadrian tilted his head to the side. “Aren’t we?”

Alexander slowly raised his head. He took a good, long look into Hadrian’s eyes, as if searching for _something_ , and then he sighed, letting it go whether he found what he was looking for or not. “I guess we are.”

“Hate to ruin your moment there,“ Rhadamanthus interrupted, his movement causing three pairs of eyes to shift their focus to him as he lifted himself up to sit comfortably on a burnt table, “but if you haven’t noticed, this room is in a need of a good cleaning spell—”the Malfoy took an exaggerated glance around the classroom before snorting,”—and some…”

Alexander grimaced while Ignis bit his lip. Hadrian simply stared.

“What are you looking at _me_ like that for? If memory serves, precious, _you’re_ _far_ better at cleaning spells.”

“What about the _and some_?”

Rhadamanthus shrugged. “You’re a magical prodigy too,” he replied as if that were enough of an answer.

Hadrian snorted. “Oh, so you had your fun and now you’re done, is that it?”

“My magic doesn’t _like_ to _clean_ ,” said the Malfoy with a toothy, taunting grin. “It much prefers… hmm… _making_ the messes, if you know what I mean.”

“Go to hell, Tom,” growled Hadrian, even as he lifted his wand and began to thoroughly clean the room.

“Oh, so that’s where our next date is? That’s rather far from here,” he casually noted, “but if that’s what you _really want_ —”

 “It is. Let’s schedule it for November thirty-first.”

“Wonderful. I’ve always loved challenges—and I suppose I can see where you’re coming from if I squint. Actually _making_ the day is probably a lot more heartfelt and romantic and all that Hufflepuff rot, isn’t it?”

Alexander looked at Ignis. Ignis looked right back. They hopelessly shrugged at each other, conveying the fact that whatever their companions were talking about flew right over their heads. Well, it seemed amusing to _them_ , so it wasn’t exactly an argument anymore, was it?

…Was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH MYSTERY SORTA SOLVED. ALREADY. xD
> 
> If you're confused, clarifications are in the next chapter! But I think it's sorta kinda clear what's going on here between Ignis and Alex and Alex and Tom... actually not so much the latter I guess. Well, wait for the next chapter!


	7. Chapter VII

As it turned out, Rhadamanthus and Hadrian argued _a lot_. Ignis didn’t know why he was only noticing _now_ , or if it had only begun _now_ , but once his brain registered it, their fights seemed to go on forever.

Or maybe they weren’t really fights, so to speak. Admittedly he couldn’t quite tell.

Their arguments seamlessly fit into their conversations. Maybe it was a jab here, a jab there, and then whatever they were talking about continued right on afterwards without a pause. Like… _like they knew each other that well_.

Ignis was hopelessly lost. He couldn’t them at all, but another part of him knew understanding them was inconsequential. It probably wasn’t going to happen anyways. What mattered was… was that he could _see_ this side of them. That they allowed him to. It was a gained privilege, and somewhere down the line he had apparently proven himself to get it.

One minute they were discussing a particular subcategory in runes (which Ignis didn’t understand in the first place), and the next they were going back and forth at it about something that the muggleborn vaguely remembered them talking about a week ago. Well, _talking_ was too nice… they had gone at it like two predators after the same meal. Verbally, of course.

Ignis didn’t think he’d ever see Rhadamanthus harm Hadrian, or vice versa. Something like that… was unthinkable.

Alex was also confused. The part of him rejecting what he now knew to be the younger Malfoy’s dominance was gone—tamed, just like that. He wondered why that had never happened before. And still, even when that irrational anger popped up again, one glance from Rhadamanthus and it was suitably cowed. Alexander didn’t know whether to be relieved or irritated.

Whichever it was, he _still_ didn’t understand the shift in powers. Something had changed, but he only had a slight brush with that knowledge. It was as if some greater being up there was telling him he was too young, too inexperienced to know.

Not yet.

“Alexander.”

And lo and behold, here was the source of his confusion now. The half-blood turned, not surprised to see Rhadamanthus but _shocked_ when there was no sign of Hadrian. The two of them were inseperable—what had happened?

The Malfoy must have noticed his searching gaze, a light smirk appearing on his face. “Hadrian is… occupied,” he drawled. “But never mind that. Come with me.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes in suspicion. While it seemed that he and Rhadamanthus had entered some sort of unspoken truce, it was fragile. The Malfoy didn’t particularly care for him, and Alex returned that apathy (though of course with his side of curiosity). In fact, Rhadamanthus didn’t care about _anyone_ other than Hadrian it seemed, so why would he ever seek _him_ out?

The Malfoy paused, his back having been turned as he walked away. He took a glance back towards Alexander, who had not moved a step. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he stated.

The creature inside of Alex shook. He didn’t need to be told twice. Immediately the half-blood took off after Rhadamanthus, who had continued towards whatever destination he had in mind. It just so happened to be an abandoned classroom.

Rhadamanthus turned around. “I have noticed your… curiosity,” he said.

Alex swallowed. “It’s hard not to be.”

A dark chuckle. “Yes… mm… But I have not called you to sate it.”

He paused. “Then why’d you call me…?”

“Lesson one,” Rhadamanthus began, and Alexander barely dodged the beam of red that whizzed past him. “Ask the right questions.”

“Excuse me?” the half-blood snarled, but that only had him dodging another spell. “How the fuck is that a lesson?”

Rhadamanthus clicked his tongue. “Don’t be rude. I’m not doing this for _you_.”

“You—!” But he had no time to finish his yell. Alex rolled, dodging another spell that almost scratched his arm, and the feeling of betrayal welled in his stomach. So the Malfoy was the same—same as those _people_! The people that tried to hurt Ignis!

Well that was fine! He had always known not to trust others! The comfort of having found companions… he knew it could not last—

“ _Don’t_ ,” Rhadamanthus hissed, “compare me to those _fools_.”

Alex leapt out of the way of another curse aimed at his ribs. “Wha—“

“I expected you to be smarter than this. How _ever_ have you survived ‘til now, I wonder?”

“You’re—“

“Careful, that one almost hit you.”

“ _Fuck_ —“

“Save your breath, and don’t curse.”

“Screw—“

“You know, you remind me a lot of someone… only _he_ could pull off shouting at me and dodging at the same time.”

“Go to hell!” Alex shouted. He dodged another spell and then flung himself at Rhadamanthus, who was sitting casually on a desk. The Malfoy turned to look at him with a calm gaze.

The beast within him roared. Fire wrapped around his outstretched limbs, aiming to rip and _tear_. His wand was completely forgotten in his pocket.

Rhadamanthus was not so forgetful. He flicked his wrist, causing a whip of water to lash down upon him. Alex caught a glimpse of a wooden blur. _His wand…_

He fell to the floor in a boneless heap. There would be bruises later.

“Hmm… as I thought. You’re rather stubborn aren’t you? You bow to me… but come the right time, you strike in rage. Harry won’t like that. Looks like I’ll just have to tame you.”

Alexander got the vague sense that the Malfoy wasn’t talking to _him_ , exactly. He was talking to… to…

“Get up,” Rhadamanthus commanded. “If you’re going to control it, then you’ve got to have the motivation. The _drive_. You’re going to have to draw upon every last drop of your will, and even then, that might not be enough.”

Alex swallowed, but got to his feet anyway. Slowly, everything was falling into place. He understood now. “Why are you doing this?” _For me_?

Rhadamanthus _looked_ at him. “For one, I hate disobedience. Two, Harry probably wouldn’t like it if I gave him a wild pet. Not only is that rude, but it’d put me sleeping alone for at least a week, and that’s a situation I don’t want, at any costs.”

“…What?”

He sighed. “You’re pitiful, no doubt about that, and you’re undoubtedly going to fail come the following years if you think your meager control is enough to protect your ward, but I’m not feeling sympathetic. Don’t get me wrong, this is _not_ for _you._ It’s for Harry, and Harry alone.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Do you need to?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I…” Alex decided to choose his words more cautiously this time. “No, I don’t, but I’d… I’d like to?”

Rhadamanthus smirked. “You’re learning. Still coarse, but I’ll polish you soon enough. To answer you, you belonged to Harry the second Ignis belonged to Harry. He took you under his wing, so to speak, and since Harry is mine, so too are you two mine. And I’m not going to have two spineless weaklings—no, I won’t stand for that. So you’ll need to be trained.”

“Trained in… what way?” Alexander was rather sure it wasn’t only in the physical sense. “And what makes you think I’ll go along with this willingly?”

“In whatever way I think you should be,” the Malfoy replied, and ignored the second question. “Lesson two, do not question me.”

The following curses had Alex ducking, dodging, jumping, and using the classroom furniture as barriers. By the end of the impromptu “lessons”, he was aching and sore all over.

* * *

 

Harry smiled at Ignis indulgently as the boy ate his slice of cake. They were both having a light snack in the kitchens—the house elves were _still_ overly eager to serve anyone who managed to wander down here—and he was trying, to a point, to distract the boy from worrying about how Tom and Alex were doing.

But Ignis cared far too much for his half-blood friend for that to work, of course.

“Are you _sure_ Alexander is going to be okay? Rhadamanthus doesn’t exactly seem… err…” Ignis trailed off, not wanting to offend his friend.

Harry laughed. The muggleborn had the most adorable expression on his face, a mix between apprehension and clear-cut worry as well as a child’s innocent curiosity. “For the nth time, yes. I’m sure Alexander is going to be fine, and if he isn’t, well, then Tom’s going to get a bit of talking to, isn’t he? And before you ask _again_ , who do you think Alexander will be getting stronger for?”

Ignis tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding.

“ _You_. He’s going to get stronger to protect you, like he promised.”

“…Then can… can _you_ train me, Hadrian? Because I want to protect Alex too!”

Harry had been expecting this. “Of course I can,” he said as his smile slowly grew toothy, “but you’re going to have to be serious about this.”

“I am,” Ignis replied, and the subtle, subconscious shift in his aura told Harry that he was… that he _truly_ was.

“Then I’ll start now, so we can finish by the time Alex’s lessons are done.”

* * *

 

“ _Alex!_ Oh God, oh Merlin, oh—“Harry watched in amusement as Ignis began to run with all his might towards his limping friend at the end of the hallway, following a more sedate manner behind.

“You said he’d be fine!” he all but shouted when his new mentor stopped beside him. “He’s got bruises all over him! That’s not _fine_!”

“Of course it is,” Tom snorted, “it could’ve been a lot worse. In fact, he’s looking rather well, but it _is_ the first lesson—“

“Hadrian!” Ignis cried, “ _do something_!”

Harry put a calming hand on the panicking boy’s shoulder at the same time as he laced his and Tom’s fingers together in a restraining gesture when the latter began to glare. “It’s alright Ignis. Tom is telling the truth—no broken bones, no sprained ankles. He’ll be fine with a bit of rest, and perhaps this’ll be motivation to learn some simple healing spells, hmm?”

“B—but—“

“I’m fine, Ignis,” Alex interrupted this time. “I’ll get better, and soon Rhadamanthus won’t be able to hit me _at all_.”

Tom sneered. “You’re several hundred years too early to make _that_ claim.”

“Why don’t you take Alexander back to the dorms, Ignis?” Harry cut in when another argument was about to start, “so he can get some rest. You can check him over there if you like.”

The boy took his suggestion seriously. He threw one of the half-blood’s arms around his shoulders and hoisted him up, acting like a crutch.

Alexander sighed, but didn’t stop him. As they began to depart, he paused, and craned his neck back to look at the two still standing at the end of the hallway. “I never got to ask… Are you to Rhadamanthus what Ignis is to me?”

Instead of answering, Harry smiled silently and let Tom reply with his own smirk. “Half right, but I’m afraid Harry is _far_ less of a liability.”

His answer only caused the boy to glare and let loose a snarl before Ignis dragged him away.

“Speaking of the liability, didn’t you start teaching him yet? Why isn’t _he_ licking his wounds?”

“Ignis needs a bit more before we can start the Spartan training, I’m afraid. His magic needs to be refined at the beginning, otherwise it’ll become an issue later. Thanks, by the way, for going through this with me.”

Tom sighed and unlaced their fingers, taking back his hand to instead use his arm and pull his companion into a loose embrace. “If you’re going to be blindly taking in strays, I might as well check them for rabies.”

“Such a nice dark lord I have.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Two weeks afterward, Alexander proved to actually be a good student when he wanted to. Tom _still_ wasn’t quite satisfied with it, but by the way he wasn’t snapping at the boy, Harry could tell the halfling was improving at a decent pace.

Not to mention, Alexander was probably a novelty to Tom. It wasn’t every day you encountered a _half_ dijinn. By nature, dijinn were usually magical creatures that did not procreate with humans, never mind uphold a constant interaction with them; their halfings were _uncommon_ at best. And Tom, _nerd_ as he was, Harry thought affectionately, was probably having a field day observing and researching Alexander during their training sessions.

Harry was more curious what Ignis did to curry the protection and _affection_ of Alexander, but he wasn’t going to ask about it. The boy would tell him, if ever, on his own. Besides, it was a _passive_ curiosity. He didn’t _need_ to have an answer, though Tom would beg to differ. The dark lord always took his curiosity to extreme measures… at least, in _Harry’s_ opinion.

Today, DADA was having a class outside. For First Years, this would be the _first_ time they would _ever_ be having lessons somewhere other than a classroom.

Harry figured, with much satisfaction, that Scorpius would be a much better professor than _his_ annual DADA teachers. While the Malfoy still had much sway in the Ministry (despite his retirement, he was a _Malfoy_ , after all), it was clear he was also focused on his teaching job, and strived to do well in it and actually encourage his students to learn. A very nice change.

He didn’t know Scorpius all too well in his last life, but the boy—now aging _man_ —certainly wasn’t a stranger. After they had matured, Draco and he shared a mutual, grudging respect for each other. Any arguments they had were usually playful in nature, and his once-rival acquiesced that Harry had much to teach the world _and_ his son, so he brought him along sometimes during their casual meet ups. While it wasn’t a close-knit, _arm around your shoulder_ relationship, Harry liked to think he and Draco had been rather good friends at the time of his death. At least, all hard feelings during the war had been forgiven by then.

“Your nostalgia’s showing through,” Tom remarked as they moved out into the quad behind the rest of the students. They purposely stayed in the back, observing everyone else and the much taller figure of their professor as he led them in a neat, orderly group.

“It’s hard not to. Hogwarts brings back memories,” Harry murmured. “Doesn’t it for you?”

“It does, but mine do not hold as much sentimentalities, if you can believe it.”

Harry frowned at the reminder. “Ah, right. When did your little possy form?”

Tom made a strangled sound at the back of his throat at Harry’s word choice. “My _possy_ , as you so eloquently put it—“his companion grinned sheepishly at that,”—began to form in my third year.”

“But they weren’t your friends.”

“Not at all,” Tom replied, not missing a beat. “Weak, pathetic things they were…”

“I heard Abraxas Malfoy was one of the best duelists of his time.”

“He was,” a smirk, “before I delved into my studies. After the first time, defeating him in duels grew successively easier.”

“Bet those bragging rights were at stake,” Harry snarked back.

“Maybe once or twice. We dueled quite often in the beginning—it’s hard to remember.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle and take the opportunity he so often waited for. “Old man.”

“Technically you were older than _me_ when you died—“

“Oh, so admit it then? Can’t go calling me a brat now—“

“It’s not like you act your age, precious—“

“Today is the day that will be known as ‘The First Time I Made Tom Roll His Eyes In Public’!” declared Harry.

“See? What did I say—immature,” Tom snorted. The light upturn of his lips told Harry he was just as amused as he was. And this… this was nice. They had experienced this peace between them for the last eleven— _technically_ nine, discounting the years they lived without each other as a constant presence—years, but every time they were able to speak and banter like this, _playfully_ , filled Harry with a certain joy that he never wanted to put a name on.

No war. No antagonism. No worries—backstabbing, betrayal, scheming (or at least, on _Harry’s_ part. Who knew what Tom was thinking), ulterior motives, adult worries… Being thought of as a child again was nice, in that respect. Harry planned to enjoy it as much as possible before his and Tom’s bodies grew up and people began to judge them. Hopefully they had a stable enough status by then to dissuade most of the annoying part of society though.

 _Okay_ , so maybe Harry wasn’t all too against _taking over_ , or however Tom phrased it. Him having been Harry Potter, and Tom having been Lord Voldemort—well, it was impossible if there was _too much_ peace. Some chaos always had to be around, and Harry admitted if there wasn’t he would probably get bored with everything, and might as well take another trip around the world or visit Death or something or other.

 _Chaos made the world go around_.

Tom’s hand slipped into his own, and he squeezed it lightly.

“I don’t know if I’ve said this before,” Harry murmured, “but I’m very happy. With you.”

In anyone else’s shoes, those words would’ve been a very awkward thing to say, and he might not have said them at all, but Harry knew that they had gone through too many things to not be able to interpret each other’s words correctly. Tom would understand, undoubtedly.

“I suppose _I’m_ _happy_ too,” Tom replied, acting put-upon as he sighed. “Sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“What? Oh come _on_ precious, you _know_ you can be more trouble than you’re worth, and that’s saying something—“

“Tom, _why_ do you make it so hard for me to _just_ feel flattered, instead of a combination of insulted and complimented at the same time?”

“Because then _everyone_ could say living with a dark lord is easy—“

“Sometimes I wonder if _you’re_ more trouble than you’re worth!” Harry teased. “My darling dark lord, being difficult on purpose! How did I _not_ see this coming when I signed up for eternity with you?”

“Should’ve read the fine print.”

“You probably made the fine print invisible on purpose!”

“Should’ve used _Finite Incantatem_. I thought I taught you better than that.”

“You’re _impossible_ ,” Harry groaned.

They both squeezed each other’s hands, the equivalent to sharing a secret smile between themselves.

* * *

 

Everything was going well until they reached the quad. Professor Malfoy began to give a brief overview of what they would be covering that day—something both Tom and Harry tuned out in favor of their own silent conversation—and then… well, the metaphorical boulder had been pushed off the steep cliff, so to speak.

What had _pushed_ it down was slightly more interesting than the outcome. Harry had always known the nostalgia of Hogwarts would come back to bite him in the arse. Of course, he had lived here in his last life too as Headmaster; the school seemed to be an ever-constant in his life, and he had no doubt he would come back here later in this one too for at least a visit. Hogwarts had been kind to him, despite some events during his life to be questionable in that respect.

He had walked and explored every nook and cranny of the school. He knew the passageways like the back of his hand, like every visible blemish on his skin, like a person _knew_ their imperfections and, through the course of their life, learned to live with them.

So he didn’t know why, precisely, he was reacting in this way, without the slightest warning or the hint his gut instinct usually gave him.

True, he had avoided the Hogwarts quads in his past life, but that didn’t mean he never walked through them or past them, or had never seen them at all. As Headmaster, parts of his duty included both physically and magically patrolling the grounds, at least enough to ensure everything was good and peaceful with his _own_ senses. It was helping the groundskeeper, in that respect, so why, why _specifically_ this was becoming such an issue _now_ was—

Perhaps it was because of Tom. He couldn’t block out his memories around Tom, couldn’t ignore them, push them away to focus in the present. Some would view it like a curse, and wonder how the hell Harry planned to stay by the man’s side for eternity, but Harry knew it just wasn’t like that. Forgetting was a part of life, but so was _remembering_. And Tom, beautiful, cruel, lovely Tom, was his perfect counter—he would never let go, never give up when Harry would, and just the same vice versa. Their stubbornness held them together like nothing else could.

But it was impossible not to hurt, and then again, looking back that might just be another reason they fit so well. Living through life with jagged beginnings, fitting not quite so right into society, trying to find their _place_ , wherever that was, and then finding death and Death _together_ —

Only a fool would say they were together for the happy memories they had. There was a thickness, an anger between them like no other, oil waiting to simmer and burn, deceptively calm and so _easily_ could it be ignited—

Harry fell to his knees. He didn’t hear the voices of confusion around him, didn’t feel the touch of Tom’s hands shaking his shoulders, trying to hold him up—

No, all he could see, _hear_ , was what happened all those years ago. He looked through the crowd, not seeing them but instead himself, seventeen, young and unsure but determined like no other, and across from him, his foil. Lord Voldemort, older, confident, experienced—but there wasn’t the same fire in his eyes; he had the look of a starved, crazed man on the brink of the world, driven by desperation no one but he could prove resilient enough to muster.

It wasn’t raining. It didn’t need to be.

Harry wanted to shout at himself, “ _Don’t do it, don’t do it, by Merlin and all holy above,_ don’t do it! _You don’t know what it’ll do, what it’ll do_ to you _…”_ but it never made it past his throat. While logically, he knew and could say he wouldn’t change a thing about the past, because if he did it would’ve never brought him _here_ , his heart told him things so radically different that nothing else made sense. All he knew was the pain he would feel after, _after_ , when Tom was forced to leave him, when he would feel gut-wrenchingly _alone_ because he’d never truly been alone for sixteen years of his entire _life_ —

A flash of green. The loud, cold laughter of someone with victory assured. A bracelet, flung at the last minute—red, then _greengreen_ green—

A corpse hit the floor. Seventeen-year-old Harry’s face paled, his knees giving out under him, realizing what he had done. Not just Voldemort had died that night. Not just the man’s soul had departed that night either. He stole away his heart, coveted it with such seriousness and lust that Harry could do no more than give it up, and when he finally _had_ —

_Tom. I killed Tom._

_“It won’t be goodbye forever, precious—“_

_“We’ll meet again—“_

_“Don’t cry. There’s an afterlife, and I’ll be damned if Death keeps us apart—“_

_You won’t be the same. You won’t be_ my _Tom. How can I love Lord Voldemort? Certainly not like I loved you… Like I do, always,_ always… _just as you, me._

_Don’t go—I won’t be able to love anyone again if you do! No one else will know my soul as you, know my heart and be so willing to bind themselves under its will as you have! Give it back to me, give me back my heart, at least a piece, so I may live to whisper your name on my lips, to bid farewell under the desire to be with you—_

But Tom was always cruel, and suicide was never the proper answer.

_Where is my heart now…?_

“Mr. Jameson!”

Harry blinked, eyes vacant and still seeing the final duel between them loop on repeat.

“ _Mr._ Jameson!”

_Where are you… in a place I cannot go, in a place I cannot find… how far is our separation, where must I go this time?_

_I swear once I’ve found you again, there is nothing anyone can do to make me let go… you who are loyal to none, gave me your unconditional loyalty. You who loved none, gave me your heart in your eyes and expected it to be more than good enough to replace my own. You who always took two steps forward, took one and looked back encouragingly at me. You waited._

_And I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer._

“ _Mr. Jameson_!”

“I believe I’m feeling light in the head, Professor,” Harry answered, his voice coming out flat and breathy. “May I go to the hospital wing?”

“Boy I’m not sure you can even _stand_ , never mind walk all the way back inside,” Scorpius muttered.

“Let me take him,” Tom cut in. “I suppose he ate something upsetting during breakfast and it’s catching up.” It sounded like the worst lie he had ever told, no one buying it in the least, but in the split second between Scorpius’ agreement and actually letting his two Slytherins walk off, his acting was more than enough to compensate for his lacking words, and Scorpius didn’t have it in him to call them back once they were a ways away.

Alexander and Ignis shared a worried look between themselves. Hadrian and Rhadamanthus were _unshakeable_. That something happened now—what could it mean? But they couldn’t go after their friends. The Professor was already talking again, acting as if no interruption had occurred at all, and as students in his House, they were expected to take it just like that.

Wordlessly they both decided a visit to the hospital wing once the lesson was over to be the best course of action.

* * *

 

Once they were away from prying eyes, Tom eased Harry up against a wall and cupped his cheeks, forcing his companion to look at him.

“Harry,” he breathed, his face so close that the sigh brushed across Harry’s lips, “ _Harry_. Precious. Look at me.”

“You’re…” _not him, not my Tom, but I know you_ , “you’re okay.”

“Yes,” Tom murmured, pushing their foreheads together, “I am. And you are too. Alive, that is, but we were no worse in death either.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I killed you.” He purposely didn’t specify _which_ ‘you’.

“Darling we both know that.” Tom’s answer came out quiet and rushed. “We _both_ know that. Quick, what year is it?”

“Not funny. I’m not an amnesiac,” mumbled the other boy.

“Just making sure.”

Harry trembled. “It rained, afterward, you know—“he stumbled on his next words, even though he was sure he told Tom a million times already,”—and they said… said it was cleansing. A hopeful shower. Signified rebirth, beauty, nature… or some tripe like that.”

“I’m sure it was beautiful.” He didn’t see the slow burning, bitter and affectionate look in Tom’s eyes.

“It was,” he choked, “It was so beautiful I cried… and they didn’t begrudge me of it at all. I wish they did.”

Harry felt lips press against his nose, his cheeks, the edges of his eyes, his forehead where a distinctive scar used to be in another life.

“Tell me more.”

“Aren’t you tired of hearing an old man tell the same stories over and over again?”

“ _Tell me_ , Harry.”

“I was so _lonely_ ,” he wailed, “I don’t know how you did it—missing a part of your soul is _terrible_ , the most horrid feeling on earth, and I wanted to—so many times, so hard to move on, _impossible_ … and I wondered, about—about—“

“It got better,” Tom whispered, “right?”

“Kind of. Maybe. Sometimes more than others, it was easier to ignore it—when I took care of little Alice, and Edward, and Callum—“

“Who else?”

“Trevor… and Hugh… and Iris…”

“And?”

“Rosie… and Felix… Felix grew up well. He was the most affectionate of the bunch, though they all visited me often, Felix would always bring me chamomile tea…”

“Tell me more. Did you hate me?”

“No,” Harry murmured, his eyes still closed. “No, I didn’t hate you. Could never. Even if you took part of me away, and left me to live without it, I couldn’t hate you…”

“What part of you did I take?”

The question sat there between them, the giant elephant in the room, the answer dying on Harry’s tongue. Tom sighed.

“Precious… I’ll take you back to the dorm. We’ll sleep there, turn in early. It’ll be nice.”

He tugged Harry’s hand, pulling him off the wall, supporting him with his strength, and only then did Harry’s eyes blink open.

“Tom,” he said quietly, and then louder, with confidence and maybe something else there too, “ _Tom_!”

“I’m here.”

“I know, prat,” Harry forced himself to chuckle. “I know… just—“

“Just what?”

They stopped. The world stopped. And for a second, the spotlight was so blinding Harry could not remember what he wanted to say.

“I know,” he whispered, “that you’re here. I know that. I do. I swear. I’m—“ _sorry_.

“Idiot,” Tom grunted. He pulled Harry into a quick embrace, but it was warm and comforting, like the cups of exotic tea he used to drink when he was alone in front of his fireplace, wondering what the hell he was doing alive—soothing to his soul. “You cause me _so_ much trouble…”

“’m sorry, Tom,” came Harry’s muffled reply, “I’ll try to stop.”

The grip on him tightened. “No, don’t. You’re beautiful like this.”

His last line threw Harry off guard. He stiffened—it had been so long since he felt uncomfortable around Tom, what was it _now_?—not entirely sure what to do or say next. Confliction filled his heart. He had wavered, perhaps a bit too much on one side, and now a blow like this blew him completely off course.

“This time, I won’t let you worry for anything. You’ll want for nothing.” _I’ll make it up to you, I swear._

“Tom—“

“Because, _because_ , you deserve it, after everything I put you through.”

“That’s a terrible lie. You don’t regret it one bit,” Harry accused. He knew he was right.

“Would you _stop_ ruining my attempts to make you feel better?” Tom snapped.

“Lying isn’t going to help.”

“Then what _will_?”

Harry paused. “Can we just… go take a nap?”

Tom nodded. He let go, and they continued on to the dungeons. Their hands never left each other’s.

Staring at his back while Tom dragged him forward, Harry couldn’t help but think things, some not entirely true and others truer than their existence. They were thoughts he would never voice, quiet thoughts, thoughts that maybe Tom would hear on a rainy day, when there was nothing much to do and no conversation flowed across verbally. And maybe they were too far from the thin line Harry usually walked on, maybe they had been knocked off course too, got lost along the way and were just trying to find their way home.

“I—“came out of his mouth, but he stopped himself just in time. His face flushed. The thought was unfinished aloud, but it beat in his skull without end. He prayed to any higher being above who would listen that Tom didn’t hear.

“Did you say something?”

“No. You must be imagining things.”

And maybe Harry was imagining things too, because he wasn’t in love with Tom. Not this one.

Just because he stopped pining for the other one didn’t mean he was in love with this one. Only a fool would seek love so desperately.

…But Tom was beautiful too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASK, and ye shall receive <3\. Several people PM'd me the _best_ inspirational messages ever, and so this is what the inspiration made.
> 
> ....In other words, lolwhatamIdoing, what is this shameless fluff, who is this fluff KILLER, because that last scene probably broke some hearts.
> 
> Past this, I have nothing thought out for this fic, but maybe something will hit me eventually--honestly, I never planned this story for plot.... just fluff. Lots of shameless fluff. You might notice there are some elements in here that FEEL like plot, but really, the stuff between Harry and Tom are from the prequel and Alex and Ignis are there in case I want to make plot. Yeah.
> 
> So see ya'll when I see you. And come check out Nature versus Nurture in the process because I like to shamelessly self-promote.
> 
> ...WHERE IS MY SHAME CERTAINLY NOT HERE.


	8. Chapter VIII

They lied in bed together, Harry wrapped about Tom with his head on his heart and his hands gripping tightly to firm shoulders. Tom was silent. Harry was too, but his desperation stung the air with the scent of salt. There were no tears, but Tom’s arm never leaves its spot around Harry’s waist, clutching the bare skin there in comfort for the both of them.

There were too many feelings between them now to voice. So instead, there was silence, and the warmth of their almost nude bodies pressed against each other, if only for the reassurance that heated flesh brought.

Tom knew what Harry wanted to say. How he wanted to say “sorry,” when half of him was and half of him truly wasn’t, how he wanted to say that he _knew_ this Tom wasn’t his Tom of the past, how this Tom had the essence of his Lord Voldemort instead, how it wasn’t supposed to _matter_ —how it didn’t, but it _did,_ all the same—how normally, there was no identity crisis, but the stupid memories were getting in the stupid way again, and he was just so _sorry_ —

Tom knew all this, without a doubt.

And he also knew, even if the thought was never explicitly in Harry’s mind, that the one person Harry wanted right now was that of his horcrux—the piece of his soul who had first been there, to acknowledge the silence of suffering, to whisper his allegiance—to _shout_ it, to hiss it, to murmur it with all softness and sweetness and cold, hard reality found in truth. Tom knew, because he had those memories too, and he admitted to himself that his horcrux’s odd way of thinking, of believing, was what Harry needed right now.

But he didn’t have it, because in the end, souls thought differently when given a body, a personality, a _life_ , and while Tom still had those feelings imprinted on himself, he could not bring it back, faithfully and truly, across the wide gap between mortality and eternity. And he knew Harry knew that too, bringing them back to the apologies that he stopped himself from saying, and thus the permeating silence.

…It was really hard to be a good guy.

Tom acknowledged the fact that it was easier to kill things, to _destroy_ things than repair them, and it was so, _so_ much more difficult to be cornered into inaction to preserve certain lines of sensibilities and propriety. _Their own version_ of propriety, that is. So it was harder to be the good guy, the person that played by the rules, than to be the villain, who lived and worked and _breathed_ to take those very rules and burn them to indiscernible ash.

He didn’t know whose heart ached now, whether it was Harry’s leaking through their bond or his own stinging in his chest.

Tom wished Harry loved him. No—no, not _loved_ him—was _in_ love with him. Or at least, acknowledged there was perhaps that certain feeling inside of his heart. For all that they were open and clean with one another, the secrets that were _not_ spread bare for the other’s perusing were kept all the more hidden behind walls and walls of mental protection. It was something neither Tom nor Harry could take lightly, and so they lived on a daily basis of everything being _fine_ , being _wonderful_ , but the first step into that other, _forbidden_ section of their relationship was absolutely taboo.

And when the step was taken—purposefully, accidentally; a stumble instead of a stride—everything kind of went downhill… very quickly.

He wanted—he _wanted_ —

Tom’s grip tightened desperately. He held Harry close, shutting his eyes and inhaling the scent so near but so far from his heart. He was _sure_ that the other was being squished right now, but neither said anything. What was a little pain, in comparison to the violent stabbing of their chest? _Nothing_.

“I wish we could be good to each other,” Harry mumbled so quietly that Tom had to strain his ears to hear.

“This is why I hate emotions,” Tom agreed. “Better off tossing them away again.”

“I like caring—” _about you_ , “—so I wouldn’t go that far. But sometimes it really sucks.”

“Crass, but accurate,” praised Tom.

Harry nuzzled the chest beneath him. “Thanks.”

* * *

Ignis and Alexander entered their dormitory with slumped shoulders after meeting with a confused nurse in the Hospital Wing. Apparently, Rhadamanthus and Hadrian had never gone there like they said they would—not _really_ a surprise, but Ignis figured if Hadrian actually needed the care, Rhadamanthus would never withhold it from him.

Perhaps then, what had happened during class had actually been a _recurring_ problem? That made Ignis worry even more, and for all of Alexander’s attempts, the possibility of it could not be pushed from the first year’s head. So, before heading back to the Slytherin Common Room, they had run about the school—or at least a few particular places that their friends seemed to favor—before returning to the Hospital Wing again for one last check. Upon being told Hadrian had _never_ been at the Hospital Wing that day, as opposed to simply _not there_ , they both had immediately turned in the direction of the dungeons and headed off.

Ignis immediately made a quick glance around the room. It was still only four, so no one was back in the dorms yet—the beds were empty. But he had been so _sure_ that Hadrian and Rhadamanthus were in here! They certainly weren’t anywhere _else_ , and no one had seen them since class that morning either.

Ignis paused. Well, it wasn’t like the two had never randomly disappeared into some corner of Hogwarts before. There had been just a few times in the past, so insignificant and slight, where they would disappear after lunch, or after classes, and simply pop back up in the Common Room later. But Hadrian hadn’t exactly left with the best of health, so where exactly—

“Ignis?”

“Yeah, Alex?”

“Where _are_ Rhadamanthus’ and Hadrian’s beds?”

Ignis frowned. “Well they’re obviously over—actually, I don’t think I know.”

Both first years began to mentally count off and name which bed belonged to whom. They scratched their heads when they came up short—all the beds seemed to be accounted for, but for the life of them they didn’t know _which_ belonged to Hadrian and Rhadamanthus. There were no _unoccupied_ beds either—it was as if their two friends didn’t even exist in the first year Slytherin Boy’s Dormitory. It simply didn’t make sense.

While Ignis puzzled over the quandary he’d found them in, Alex took a sweep about the room again. This time, he went slower, making sure to look in all the nooks and crannies as well as the four corners.

Both Rhadamanthus and Hadrian were… _accomplished_ for first years. All the spells in class they performed with ease on the first try. It didn’t take very long to figure out they were gifted; perhaps even genii. Even if none of their classmates said anything, Alex concluded they knew _something_ about it as well, since none of them were ever really surprised.

Maybe it was some well known knowledge in the pureblood circles.

Either way, Alex knew because of the Slytherin dorm environment, it wasn’t out of the question for Hadrian and Rhadamanthus to _do something_ about their sleeping arrangements. Cast some spells. And, if that was the case, disillusionment was too magically draining to keep up for such a long, extended period of time, complete invisibility was too advanced, the space was _far_ too small for something like an unplottable—

Alexander tilted his head to the side, as if to get another angle for his perusing about the room. “A notice-me-not charm?”

“Huh?” Ignis asked. “Did you say something?”

“What if they both cast a notice-me-not charm on their beds?”

“Uh… I can sort of figure out what the spell does, but I’ve never heard of it before. What is it, exactly?”

Alex nodded to himself at the reminder of his friend’s origin of birth. While he himself grew up away from pureblood society, he still was somewhat well-versed in general magical knowledge. “It’s a basic charm that, as you guessed, does what the name implies. It causes people to ignore whatever its cast on—in all manners. Mentally you’ll kind of just forget something, or your mind won’t even register it. Visually, your vision kind of just… skips that spot. It’s rather hard to resist, depending on how powerful the person is who cast it—and as long as nothing draws your attention to the spot. I think we learn about it in third or fourth year.”

“Oh,” Ignis paused, “So… what do we do?”

Alex shrugged. “Call for them, I guess?” His friend wrinkled his nose at that. It sounded ridiculous, talking to an empty room. But… perhaps it was worth a shot.

“Hadrian?” Ignis called loudly, almost but not quite a shout. “Rhadamanthus?”

To the left, a curtain moved, and immediately the two friends turned their heads to the spot. Before them, in a corner they didn’t remember checking, two beds that they didn’t really remember counting or _seeing_ sort of just… appeared. Or, well, they had _always_ been there, but neither of them took notice until the curtain moved. Ignis blinked. Huh. Wicked spell.

The curtain of one of the beds was pulled aside, revealing _both_ Rhadamanthus and Hadrian, the latter semi-sprawled across the former. Rhadamanthus had been the one to pull aside the curtain, his expression neutral despite the strange position he was placed in.

It was a rather good thing the two who found them were still but innocent first years. Otherwise, there would’ve been quite a few questions.

“Hi,” Ignis greeted somewhat awkwardly. Well, he’d found them—but suddenly seeing both of his friends healthy and well, if not a tad sleepy still, calmed his nerves to a point where he no longer found it necessary to… well, _find them_ so insistently.

“Hello,” Hadrian’s muffled voice sounded before he turned his head to face them. One of his arms unwound from around Rhadamanthus to come up and cover his mouth as he yawned. “Is it time for dinner already?”

“Uh, no, it’s only four—but hey wait, are you okay? You didn’t go to any of your other classes—”

Hadrian smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine. Tom took good care of me—just feeling a bit under the weather, but nothing some more sleep won’t cure.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

There was a long pause before Rhadamanthus finally sat up—or tried to. Hadrian was forced to roll over and relinquish his hold to allow his friend a good, much needed stretch. There was an audible crack as Rhadamanthus rolled his shoulders and tilted his head side to side, evidence that they probably had been in that position since they left class that morning. He sighed, turned to nudge Hadrian further into the realm of wakefulness, and then got up.

“Come, precious. If it’s this late, that wolf of yours will want to see you up and about before dinner, considering Hogwart’s rumor mill has probably already spread what happened.”

Hardrian groaned. “Are you sure? Dinner’s two hours away, I’m sure it won’t be _that_ big of a difference—”

“I think I’ve spoiled you enough. Up, or I shan’t give you any more warnings.”

With a grumble, Hadrian took Rhadamanthus’ words to heart and sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make it look presentable before he finally gave up, and smiled at Ignis when the boy frowned and tried to find anything wrong with him.

“I’m alright. Tom wouldn’t let me get up otherwise, would he? And see here, he won’t even _let me_ rest anymore!”

“Well… I guess that’s true…”

Alexander snorted. “Good to see you alive.”

“Great to be alive. I’ll be sure to try and warn you before something like _that_ happens again,” Hadrian joked with a laugh. “Of course, that’ll probably be quite hard, but…”

“You’ll take dinner early if I feel you need to,” Rhadamanthus interrupted.

Hadrian huffed at that. “Make up your mind already! You either want me to rest, or you don’t!”

“Actually I just wanted to irritate you, so whichever option manages that—”

“Prat!”

Rhadamanthus caught the fluffy pillow that was thrown at him and threw it right back. It hit Hadrian right in the face, and both Ignis and Alex stared incredulously as he turned around like nothing had happened at all and said, “So, which pathetic fool do we have to crush today? I’ll bet there are all kinds of rumors about—and some of them need to be corrected. _Now_.”

* * *

Darius Nott was an only child. He was born into his family after many other attempts failed, and they seemed to believe him blessed at the time of his birth. They thought him strong, powerful; fated to bring their family back up from the ruins it had been shredded to during the time of the Second Wizarding War. So they gave him an equally strong name.

The name of a king.

But, unfortunately, not all parents have the intuition or the _luck_ to successfully name their children after their future personalities. In this case, it was quickly realized as Darius grew up that he did _not_ suit his name. He was a quiet child, calm, mostly kept to himself. He preferred books to brooms, the silence of a corner near a bookshelf to the companionship of other children.

He was not born a leader.

He was not _charismatic_.

He was not strong.

But Darius was not exactly _weak_ either. His skills lied in other areas. His observations always keen, and far past the insight most children had at his age. While he did not seek to lead, he refused to follow foolishly. There was a determination in his heart, a refusal to become what stigma and prejudice pushed in his face. He refused to become like the other Nott men during the generation of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

He refused to shame the family name like _that_ disaster had.

So Darius watched, waited, and watched some more. Rhadamanthus Malfoy and Persepheus Jameson were two such quandaries that held his attention— _potential_. He knew what that looked like. So he watched and waited some more.

And then during Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Jameson collapsed. The Slytherin hierarchy rippled with the event.

Was the Jameson heir sick all along, and no one knew? It was a time of weakness that came at a most unfortunate period—when the Slytherin rulers were evaluating the incoming snakes. If Jameson was proven unsatisfactory in this period by a lack of invitation to _join_ them, then his climb to the top when it _did_ happen would be doubly hard. Those who thought of allying themselves with the Jameson heir were _also_ going through that same re-evaluation because of that morning.

And frankly, Darius was one of those few. He believed that Persepheus Jameson was completely _capable_ of making it to the top, let no one dissuade him from _that_ —but rather, it was a matter of risk and reward. Would he really manage to get there _now_ , was the question.

Not to mention, there was _also_ the black sheep of the Malfoys to consider. That Rhadamanthus Malfoy—no one knew what his relationship with Jameson actually _was_. Darius was seriously wondering whether the two were just playing around with the minds of the onlookers—half the time they looked like each others’ _servant_ , and the other half…

_Actually friends._

It was a strange thought that Darius himself had mused over, once Ignis Arkwright and Alexander Chase had entered the scene beneath the two. Jameson and Malfoy were a duo that broke rules, it appeared—and one of those rules might as well be the concept of _no friends, just allies_ that was practically the ideal in Slytherin house.

‘Friend’ was such an idealistic word—it implied unwavering loyalty, companionship, and an _equality_ that was lost in all other sorts of superior-inferior relationships. People were usually “friends”—note the quotes—they were not commonly real _friends_. Darius was not sure which he preferred.

Because _friends_ meant vulnerabilities just as much as strength and support. And it was one of those things that just… _depended_ on the situation. Oh, he _hated_ those unclear, wishy-washy things, though it made sense that _friendship_ would be one of such.

…It would get even worse come this evening, when Rhadamanthus Malfoy bared his fangs, and the realization would hit Darius that _friendship_ was something he _could have_ under Jameson and Malfoy, but it wasn’t because of any grace or goodwill from the two—it would be a test, since Malfoy was far too possessive to let anyone close, and furthermore did not care much for that which he was merely _tolerant_ of.

The Nott admitted it was rather much to keep in mind in his first year.

Best then to wait and watch a bit longer.

* * *

“I thought this confrontation would be _at least_ during second year. First is kind of pushing it, don’t you think?” Harry noted, amused.

“Yes, well, that’s before—” Tom grimaced. He obviously had a few unsavory choice words in mind, but his refrain from using them showed just how much he cared, as well as his recent capacity to realize something was still a bit of a sensitive topic.

Harry grinned. Ah, Tom could be _really_ cute sometimes—Harry just wanted to reach out and cuddle him when he was like this. Tom was as good as a ruffled, grumpy cat with his claws clipped—Salazar knew _why_ he found that cute; he just did.  

“Thank you for caring, but I really don’t mind.”

“Right, because you know that absurdly bipolar luck of yours is going to get you into a fix that conveniently culls the respect and admiration of all of Slytherin house.”

“Actually, that’s very possible.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic, darling.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Tom, I _really_ don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t. Don’t you think I know you well enough to _know_ you don’t? This is _all_ for me, precious,” Tom declared. “They think you weak? They think _me_ weak. And I, well, you know me—I simply _can’t_ have that. Besides it’s just about time I deal with that cousin of mine—he’s gotten on my nerves an _innumerable_ amount of times since I’ve been born, you know, and when that happens it’s only a matter of time—hopefully sooner than later—that said person is… dealt with.”

“Dealt with,” Harry deadpanned.

“In fact, the only person that has crossed me that I _didn’t_ deal with has been… oh, would you look at that, _you_. Coincidences are a strange thing, aren’t they?”

“Are you trying to tell me that every person who you _don’t_ deal with, you later become soul bound to and consequently reborn with them?”

“They have to cross me first,” Tom insisted.

Harry sighed. “Of course.”

“Then… still no. Unless their name is Harry James Potter, possess the brother of my wand, served as a horcrux container at one point in their life, and oh yes, that little detail about surviving _two—_ count, _two_ Killing Curses—“

“I get the point Tom,” Harry interrupted. His cheeks were suspiciously red and his face was turned away, but the sight was satisfying enough to Tom, so he allowed the matter to drop quite contentedly.

“I _really_ don’t mind, you know.”

 “…Are you just trying to irritate me now?”

“Is it working?”

Tom gave Harry a flat look. He was met with, predictably, an impish grin.

* * *

Neither expected _Malfoy_ to make the first move. Tom and Harry were admittedly so accustomed to things flowing their own way and having to make all the important decisions that when _Cyrus Malfoy_ decided to do something, it sort of caught them off guard.

Embarrassing, really; but it wouldn’t happen again.

They both had wandered into the Common Room together as they usually did, Tom dragging Harry by the hand as they bantered about whatever their new subject was for the day. Ignis and Alex had long come back—as soon as the library closed, actually. Who knew where Tom and Harry had come from—just that they had popped up again.

If they were paying attention to their _surroundings_ instead of focused so much on _each other_ , they probably would’ve caught on to the fact that something was going to happen, just by Cyrus’ circle’s faces… but again, things that wouldn’t slide next time.

Tom was walking past the arm chair near the fire place that Cyrus sat—to get to the dorms, of course—when the Malfoy heir decided to speak. “Why, if it isn’t my _dear_ cousin… and heir Jameson, of course.”

 Tom stopped. Cyrus’ smile was malicious. “Come now, and greet me properly.”

“The proper way to greet you is not at all.”

Simultaneously, all the members of the Malfoy’s circle stood. To contrast, Harry arranged himself closer to Tom’s side, the pressure of his hand a restraint.

He supposed it was as good a time as any to say something, really—Tom was going to end up doing whatever he liked anyway, and Harry didn’t feel it was necessary to stop him. There wouldn’t be any blood spilt today—at least, he _hoped_ not, and if there was it would be a minimal amount—and no one would die unjustly, so. Harry directed the equivalent of a mental shrug to Tom.

“I’m inclined to agree with Tom,” Harry said, “that the proper way to greet you is not at all.”

Several wands were pointed in their direction, by now. But both Harry and Tom saw no threat in them—at least, none that could harm them.

“You dare?” hissed Cyrus. “You make a mistake, heir Jameson—and I will give you one chance to rectify it, as a good upperclassman would do for a younger peer. Come,” he beckoned, “join me.”

Harry sighed. Oh dear, _that_ wasn’t good… Tom’s anger spiked beside him, and he decided to get a word in before things spiraled further down for Cyrus. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing, you need not worry for me, heir Malfoy.”

Cyrus mockingly sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s how things will always be—the _weak_ stand by the _weak_.”

It happened so _suddenly_. One second Tom was very well going to toss his jerk of a cousin against the wall, the next…

Cyrus’ seat caught on fire.

Harry blinked. “Did you do that?” he said aside to Tom.

“No… though,” they both watched as the fifth year leapt up and screamed as his arse was literally burning—though it was put out a moment later by one of the other older years, it was still an amusing sight, “I do like the idea of it. Perhaps I should try that the next time around…”

While the two were discussing with each other, both Alex and Ignis had stood up and approached. The former’s gaze scorched with righteous fury.

“ _Who_!” Cyrus cried, “ _Who_ did that?! I’ll have you go through the pains of a _thousand_ _crucio_ s!”

“I did,” Alexander declared. All eyes, including Tom and Harry’s turned to them. The latter two were mildly impressed.

“Kid’s got guts,” Tom approved.

Harry nodded. “Nice bit of control there, having only the chair burn. Good job Tom, your lessons are paying off.”

“You’ve got to be _mad_ to think Hadrian and Rhadamanthus are _weak_ ,” the half-dijinn snarled. “Hell, they’re probably the strongest _in this room_. _In this school_! You _purebloods_ , heads stuck so far up your arse you can’t even see what’s right in front of you—ha! Makes me _sick_. You’re close to offending _magic_ now, with that blindness of yours!”

Cyrus drew his wand, and Harry supposed that was their signal, because the whole of his little _possy_ fired off their spells at the same time. In that split second where the spells flew midair and half a breath passed, several scenarios ran through his mind. How would it go, he wondered…

Of course, the spells were all aimed at Alex and Ignis, so they passed right by Harry and Tom—the duration of the flight was actually rather long, in Harry’s point of view. Long enough to contemplate what type of tea he would like after this.

Right before they hit the two first years—err, _Alex_ , seeing as Ignis had been shoved behind him—the spells collided with an invisible wall. Sparks flew, spectators gasped, and Tom twirled his wand.

…Not that he actually _used it_. Prat just wanted the style points, Harry mused fondly.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Tom chided. “They’re only first years.”

Tom’s smile turned tight. Harry sighed.

“We don’t learn the shielding charm until fourth year. _Technically speaking_ , of course—but you wouldn’t know if they knew it anyway. Let’s see… would this count as assault, or an unofficial duel? I think both are rather vilifying offenses in the eyes of our dear Head of House. And, as they say, what happens in the Common Room, stays in the Common Room…” he trailed off. Cyrus felt an indescribable chill seep into his veins.

“That said, if we’re dueling, I believe _I’d_ make a better opponent. To keep things fair I suppose I’ll have to stick to first year spells—if we’re going by technicalities, that is. I suppose we won’t need seconds, unofficial things and all that nonsense, and the whole _bowing_ practice does seem rather pointless if we’re to be _breaking_ rules…”

“Practicality speaks best,” Harry added beside him. They shared an amused look.

“ _Very_ true, darling. Now, to make things a bit more… hmm, _enjoyable_ … This _is_ a rare opportunity, after all. What spell shall I… _practice_ to make the occasion?”

There was silence. The smell of _burning_ had diffused about the room, but still remained strong, and that in addition to the _look_ upon Rhadamanthus Tiberius Malfoy’s face… _everyone_ sensed something simply _demonic_ present. Sulfur, brimstone, an oppressive aura that drained the essence of life from the body—

And what cut through the horrifying scene—no, perhaps what made it even _more_ terrifying—was the rather ordinary sound of someone flipping pages.

“Standard Book of Spells, Grade One,” Ignis read as he held the large book in his hands, “by Miranda Goshawk. Recommended reading material for first year students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry. Chapter twelve: Fire-Making Spell.” Ignis looked up. “I don’t think I fully understand how to use it properly. Alex didn’t use the incantation. Could you demonstrate?”

Tom grinned, toothy and reminiscent of a shark. “Certainly.”

* * *

“Dear Merlin you corrupted Ignis— _Ignis_ of all people!” Harry mumbled under his breath. “Tom, _what_ are you teaching these defenseless first years?”

“I teach _Alexander_ ,” Tom corrected. “ _You_ teach Ignis.”

“I’ve been teaching him the complete opposite of what happened,” argued Harry. “Meditation, feeling his magic… _calming_ types of things! _Calming_!”

Tom flipped a page in _The Daily Prophet_. “ _I_ say he was rather calm. He didn’t stutter at all—and there was no quake or panic in his tone of voice. Good job, darling.”

“But—oh _whatever_ … Thanks, I guess.”

“Mmhm.”

* * *

“That was _wicked_ Ignis,” Alex said as he pulled his friend aside.

“I—” Ignis bit his lip, having trouble deciding whether he should smile or turn away, “—err, thanks. I guess.”

“I’m _serious_. That was… that was _amazing_.”

“I think _you_ were better,” Ignis argued, “I just said things. You— _you_ set the chair on fire. I didn’t even know you could control your fire!”

“Rhadamanthus is a good teacher, after you stop fighting him and learn to listen.” Alex shrugged. “But anyway, _you_. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I… I didn’t either. It’s just—I was so—so _angry_ —”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They paused, and let the silence say what needed to be said but could not be heard.

* * *

“Either of you care to explain to me _why_ my grandson is in the Hospital Wing being treated with burn salve?” Scorpius Malfoy raised a brown as he stared down at the two first years.

Tom and Harry stared right back.

“A tiny mishap in the Common Room is all,” Tom said.

“And would this _tiny mishap_ cause a radical change in the Great Hall seating arrangements tomorrow morning at breakfast?”

“A movement toward entropy, I suppose,” Harry replied, “but I’m not sure there’s a correlation between our tiny mishap of tonight and breakfast tomorrow.”

“…I’m sure,” drawled Scorpius. The aging man sighed and took a seat in his office chair. “Are these tiny mishaps going to occur more often over the course of several more months, or has everything been settled fairly nicely?”

Tom and Harry shared a look. They had conveniently pushed the thought of having to arrange the new hierarchy out of their mind. It wasn’t like they had _followers_ yet…

Scorpius figured _that_ out. “Fair enough,” he declared, “but the next injured student will be sent to _me_. And… I do believe I know you better than this, but I find I must ask anyway. Rhadamanthus—Hadrian… is your… _larger mishap_ to be…”

“By fear or by love, by suppression or by tolerance,” Harry cut in, “isn’t _that_ the question of the day? Well, we are neither black nor white, and I daresay the rest of the human race is just the same. There will be fear, there will be respect, just as there will be toleration and, in moderation, care. Who knows what we want, really—but we’d rather not close any doors at the moment, as you say.”

“You aren’t first years,” Scorpius abruptly concluded.

Harry’s smile is impish. “Professor Lupin is sure to be proud of your Gryffindor bluntness.”

Tom chuckled at that, and, in the face of their Head of House’s astounded look, they left the office together to get some rest.

Solomon the Sorting Hat would certainly _love_ to hear the tale from the beginning, so he could be updated regularly until the end. And as they had seen many, _many_ years pass between them, both Tom and Harry knew the value found in the simplest of joys…

 _Such as stories_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And youuuu guys thought I would never update this fic again!
> 
> Ha! Proved you wrong! ./smugface
> 
> But yeah I couldn't resist more of this fic's version of TMR-LV/HP. Lots and lots of cute and banter and verbal fun between them! And cuddles!!!!!! Can't forget the cuddles man. 
> 
> Sooo we get development for Alex & Ignis, introduction of Darius (though again he'll be waitin' in the background ;) ), and Tom and Harry have now overthrown Cyrus ! kinda. All in one chapter. I'm actually sort of proud I fit everything in--this was supposed to go on for two more chapters haha.
> 
> ....ALSO... does anyone else find it weird that they teach incendio, a spell that literally shoots fire out of your wand, to FIRST YEARS? FIRST YEARS?!!?! FIRSSSSST YEARS?! Isn't that kinda... young. o_e And Harry only learns how to shield himself in fourth year! What's up with that?


End file.
